The Only Thing That Was Ever Mine
by RemyDico5
Summary: AU. In a world where lower class citizen are considered pets to the upper class, a seven year old Sherlock Holmes gets a "puppy" of his very own.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Some abuse/beating. Possible non-con later. There might be some stuff in this story that could make people uncomfortable so proceed with caution.

When Sherlock was six and Mycroft was thirteen, Mycroft got his puppy. His puppy had brown hair and big brown eyes and Sherlock decided instantly that he wanted one for himself. He would often tag along with Mycroft and his pet, trying to play with the puppy since he hadn't one for himself. But Mycroft wasn't keen on sharing and Sherlock was often left out.

Sherlock pestered his parents constantly, begging and pleading for a puppy of his own. Finally on his seventh birthday, his mummy took him down to the pound to pick one out. Sherlock took a long time, studying each puppy thoroughly to make sure he picked the right one. He could always change his mind and return the puppy for a better one but he didn't like the pound. It was too big and it smelled funny. On top of that all the puppy's stared at him. It was quite unnerving.

In one of the last cages, he found a small puppy with sandy hair and deep blue eyes. The puppy sat in the corner and didn't even look Sherlock. His eyes flicked at him for a moment but he didn't stare. Instead he twirled a piece of straw around his finger, tightening it until the blood was cut off and the tip of his finger was white. Then the puppy released it and it fell to the ground.

"Him." Sherlock pointed, feeling confident in his decision. "I want him."

"Are you sure?" Mummy asked.

"Oh yes." Sherlock nodded, his stomach full of butterflies and excitement filling his chest. He stared at his new pet, his new friend, and couldn't help feeling that his puppy was better than Mycroft's, better than anyone's. His puppy was special and extraordinary, but best of all, it was entirely his.

XXXX

Sherlock and his puppy liked to explore the grounds of his house. They'd pick berries off the bushes and lie in the grass, staring up at the sky while eating them. Puppy swore there were shapes in the clouds but Sherlock never saw them. Still he trusted his puppy and was willing to take his word on it.

On rainy days, they'd stay inside and read. Occasionally they'd play hide n' seek. Sherlock was much better at it than puppy. He always found his pet quickly while puppy took much longer to find Sherlock. Sherlock was good at getting himself into tight spaces and his puppy usually discounted them because he believed Sherlock couldn't fit. He always could.

But sometimes on rainy days they liked to go outside and splash around in the puddles. Puppy loved to jump in a puddle so that it would hit Sherlock dead on and dirtying his clothes. Sherlock always retaliated by doing the same and they'd run around, giggling, and trying to get each other.

They'd come banging into the house loudly, their cheeks red from running around and their clothes soaking. They'd get herded into the tub to get clean, Sherlock in the large porcelain one with warm water and bubbles, puppy in a small basin that he hardly fit in with cold water and no soap. One time Sherlock had told his puppy to join him in the big tub, that there was more than enough room. When they were discovered, blowing bubbles at each other, they'd been scolded. Owners and puppies were not supposed to share baths apparently and puppy got caged for a week. Sherlock didn't like that, not one bit.

XXXX

Another thing Sherlock didn't like was how well Mycroft's puppy and his puppy got on. The puppies always ate in the kitchen, never at the table with the family. One day when Sherlock finished his dinner early, he went to the kitchen to collect puppy and found the two of them talking and laughing while they ate their supper.

Sherlock decided he didn't like Mycroft's puppy and did his best to keep his puppy away from him. Yet as they got older and Sherlock started spending most of his day with tutors, it became difficult to keep an eye on them. He had to spend most of his time with his stupid, fat brother and hardly any with puppy. He and puppy hardly ever played anymore and yet every night Sherlock would go over what he had learned that day, and puppy would listen avidly, soaking up all the information. Sherlock was proud to have such a smart and eager pet.

A part of him missed the days of puddles and berries. Of hide n' seek and clouds. They were growing up and Sherlock found it was happening too quickly. And yet it didn't seem to be slowing down for anything and soon things were different, very different. Sherlock found himself looking at his puppy in a way that differed from how he used to. There were thing Sherlock had liked about puppy from the very first moment they locked eyes at the pound. He liked puppy's hair and eyes but there were other things too. He liked the small upturn of his nose and the pinkness of his lips.

"Puppy." Sherlock said after he had finished practicing his violin for the day. He was careful and meticulous when putting it away, careful not to damage it in any way. Puppy had been sitting in the window seat, a book in his lap while he ate an apple. Sherlock had been so mesmerized by the way puppy's mouth stretched around the tantalizing fruit that he had missed a few chords. The sunlight was streaming in, making puppy's hair shine.

"Yes Sherlock?" Puppy responded, putting his book down and taking another bite of his apple. Sherlock watched as the large chunk of the fruit rolled around in his pet's mouth until finally he swallowed it. Sherlock swallowed as well, but only because he had noticed his mouth had gone uncomfortably dry.

"Will you come here?" Sherlock asked, his hands suddenly a bit sweaty. He wiped them on his trousers and watched as puppy set the apple down on top of his book and came over, obedient as ever. Sherlock was taller than his puppy and he liked that. But when he was sitting and puppy was standing over him, Sherlock found he liked that quite a lot as well.

"Are you ok Sherlock?" Puppy asked, looking concerned. His brow furrowed as his eyes searched for what could be the problem. "You've gone a bit red."

Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to gain enough courage for what he was about to ask. When his resolve had thickened, he steeled himself and spoke. "Will you kiss me?"

Puppy looked taken aback by Sherlock's request, but after a moment he softened. Sherlock had never been kissed before, but he wanted his puppy to kiss him, very badly. Puppy still looked slightly hesitant and Sherlock knew he could order him to and puppy would have no choice, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He desperately wanted his kiss but he wanted puppy to want it as well.

Finally puppy gave him a lopsided grin and a one shoulder shrug before leaning down and pressing their lips together. Puppy's lips were soft and he tasted like apple. Sherlock licked puppy's lips, wanting to get more of the taste. Then puppy did the same to Sherlock and he found it was very exciting. Puppy's lips were parted, so Sherlock slipped his tongue in and trailed it along puppy's teeth. His pet copied the act and on they went, exploring each other's mouths until they were both panting and their lips were swollen.

When Sherlock decided they were done kissing, puppy curled up into his lap and put his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock stroked his pet's hair lovingly and was so glad that such a wonderful and beautiful thing belonged to him.

"Thank you." He said to his puppy, not just for the kissing, but for everything.

XXXX

When Sherlock was thirteen and Mycroft was twenty, their puppies tried to escape. They made it to the edge of the property before they were caught by the security. Mycroft yelled and shouted abuse at the two but Sherlock kept quiet. He noticed that they were right by the berry bushes and it made it all the more painful. All their wonderful times together, had it meant nothing?

The one glance he managed at his pet was agonizing. Puppy's eyes were sad, his lip quivering, an apologetic look on his face. Sherlock had to turn away out of anger and hurt. It wasn't long before the four of them were making their way back to the house and Mycroft was telling Sherlock they had to be punished.

"Then put them in their cages for a week." Sherlock said risking a glance back at his puppy. His head was down, hanging in what Sherlock hoped was shame.

"That's not enough." Mycroft insisted. "The punishment does not fit the crime. I'm afraid this must be dealt with in a more severe manner."

"Like what?" Sherlock asked, not liking the sound of it.

The pets were told the go to their rooms and wait for their masters to come to them. Mycroft gave Sherlock a long, black riding crop and showed him how to use it, how to bring it down with enough force to bruise but not make his pet bleed. Sherlock practiced with a sense of horror and mild fascination. He liked the riding crop, it was an interesting tool, but he didn't think he could use it on his puppy.

"Sherlock." Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder, noticing his discomfort. "This sort of behavior can't go unpunished. They are our possessions and should be grateful to be in our care. They must learn humility and that this sort of thing will not be tolerated. If we don't nip this in the bud now, they may try to escape again. You don't want that, now do you?"

Sherlock shook his head and took the riding crop with him up to his room. Puppy was sitting in his chair in the corner, his legs pulled up to his chest. When Sherlock entered, holding the riding crop, puppy's eyes widened in fear. Sherlock would have given anything to spare his pet this but Mycroft was right. As much as it would pain him to hurt his pet, it would hurt more if puppy ever succeeded in running away.

"Pull down you pants and lie facedown on the bed." Sherlock said twisting the crop in his hand.

"Sherlock, please." Puppy said in a small voice.

"Now." Sherlock said, his voice austere and his eyes blazing. Puppy trembled as he undid his trouser, pushed them down and bent himself over the bed.

Sherlock used the riding crop just as Mycroft had shown him but a few times he didn't do it right, using too much force and drawing blood. Puppy never shouted or begged Sherlock to stop, he didn't even cry. He stayed perfectly still and took his punishment, occasionally grunting or hissing in pain. Soon his lower back, buttocks and upper thighs were covered in welts, a few of them with lines of blood dripping down. But despite the obvious pain he was in, he never made more than a faint cry.

Sherlock, however, did cry. With each blow he began crying harder until the tears blurred his vision and he had to stop because he couldn't see what he was doing. He buried his face in his hands and wept because his puppy didn't love him. His puppy wanted to leave him and Sherlock made the decision that he would never let that happen. Ever.

He dropped the riding crop on the floor and sunk down to his knees in despair. His breathing was shallow, coming out his gasps and he couldn't seem to stop himself. His puppy got up from the bed, wincing as he pulled up his trousers and joined Sherlock on the floor. Sherlock reached forward and wrapped his arms around his pet, holding him close and stroking his hair. He was letting puppy know that he forgave him, even if he had broken Sherlock's heart. Puppy nuzzled his face against Sherlock's chest, informing him that he was also forgiven.

XXXX

Sherlock had always known that he was difficult. He abhorred most of the human interact he was forced into. The few times a year that he was required to endure the company of some of the local "respectable" families and their idiotic children, Sherlock spent most of his time with his puppy. He'd point out things and make puppy laugh like that Simon had slept with the maid as evident by the smudge of lipstick on the back of his ear and the fact that he had a dusty handprint on his arse. Or the fact that Mrs. Trunswell's husband had left her for a man but she was still pretending all was well. Still, she didn't care much since she was already sleeping with her chauffeur. He knew because she was looking at any pairing of men with angry glares and she had a bit of engine grease on the hem of her skirt where a man had lifted it up.

"You're brilliant." Puppy murmured against his ear and Sherlock felt his face grow warm with a blush. It wasn't from the compliment, he got those often enough. It was most likely from the feeling of hot breath against his ear. He already knew he was brilliant and yet he never tired of puppy telling him so.

"Ah Sherlock." Sebastian said as he made his way over to them. Sherlock's face instantly formed into a frown and his whole body tensed. "Still doing your little parlor trick then?"

"It's not a trick." Sherlock replied, trying to keep calm but his hands still curled into fists.

"You know everyone here hates you, right?" Sebastian pressed on as if Sherlock hadn't even spoken. "The only reason you're invited is because you have an influential family."

"Shut up." Sherlock said through gritted teeth

"If you were a dog, they'd have you put down. You're defective Sherlock. A freak. No one understands why you bother to show up to these things. Every time we're hoping you'll get the hint and yet for a self-proclaimed genius, you're still incredibly thick."

Sherlock felt the color drain from his face. He forced himself to uncurl his fists and keep his face as still as stone. And yet there was the sound of a fist cracking against bone and skin. "Puppy, no!" Sherlock cried out, wrenching his pet back. Puppy's face was red with anger, his body shaking with rage as he shouted at Sebastian.

"You fucking maggot. You're lucky to breathe his air. He's more clever than anyone else in this room."

"Puppy, stop." Sherlock said softly in his ear, holding his pet against him and stroking his arm soothingly. "Calm down, it's not worth it."

"You—" Sebastian spat, shakily getting to his feet, holding a cloth against his nose that was gushing blood. "I'll have you chambered for this."

"You'll do no such thing." Sherlock replied, letting go of his puppy and stepping between them, shielding his pet from view. "This is my pet, which means his punishment rests in my hands, not yours. You so much as try to get him chambered and I will make life very unpleasant for you. As you say, I have an very influential family."

With that Sherlock turned on his heel and grabbed his puppy roughly by the arm to lead them from the room as quickly as possible. As soon as they were out the door, they began running, heading back to the Holmes's estate. The moment they were through the front gate, they stopped to catch their breath.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry." Puppy said while still gasping for air. "Please forgive me, I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't listen to him speak to you like that."

"It's fine." Sherlock said, raising his hand to John's face and caressing his cheek. "Although I'm afraid you're brought an awful lot of trouble down on yourself."

"Why?"

"My family will undoubtedly hear about this and they'll expect me to punish you. They'll check to make sure I have." His stomach churned at the idea of it. His puppy had only been defending Sherlock and now he had to be punished for it.

"It's alright." He said taking Sherlock's hand and giving it a light squeeze.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the bile rising in his throat. He didn't want to hurt his friend but if he didn't Mycroft or someone else would and they might hurt him worse than Sherlock. No he'd have to do this, he'd have to be brave to save his puppy from a more terrible fate.

"It's ok." Puppy said soothingly, moving closer so Sherlock could feel his breath on his face. He wouldn't move closer, not without Sherlock's consent or an order.

"Will you kiss me?" Sherlock asked softly. He never ordered him with things like this, it was always his pet's choice.

Puppy closed the gap between them, their lips pressing together. It was short, they didn't have much time before someone from the house would come looking for them. Sherlock dropped his head onto his pet's shoulder, their hands still entwined. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, it's all fine." Puppy said stroking Sherlock's hair.

Together they went up to Sherlock's room where he used the riding crop, six stripes along his back, arse and thighs. Again, he barely made any noise at all but this time Sherlock didn't cry. He kept his face stoic and instead concentrated on being efficient to cause the least amount of pain. His strokes were controlled and even, not even drawing a hint of blood.

When they were finished, he asked his puppy to lie with him. They got into the bed and his pet rested against him, his head against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock rested his chin on the top of Puppy's head and held him close, making sure he was on his side so he wouldn't have to put any of his weight on his fresh wounds.

The door was thrown open and two of the household staff, two burly men who worked security, came in quickly and snatched his friend right out of his hands. "What are you doing? What's going on?" Sherlock asked, getting to his feet swiftly and trying to pry his pet away from them. "Stop it!"

"Sherlock." Mycroft's cold voice entered the room before he did and he let the thugs carry puppy away before he stepped in.

"What are you doing? I already punished him, you can see for yourself!" Sherlock exclaimed desperately trying to push past his brother to get to his pet.

"That's enough Sherlock, calm down." Mycroft replied, his demeanor icy. Greg, his own pet stood off to the side. Mycroft had finally giving his pet a name and decided on Gregory. The pet kept his hands behind his back, his lips pressed tightly together to keep from saying anything.

"You can't do this, he's mine!"

"Sherlock, will you reign it in. He's not being chambered, if that's what your concern is. What he did hardly merits such a fate. We all know Sebastian is an odious little weasel but your pet laid a hand on him and raised his voice. I'm sure you punished him but we have to discourage this kind of behavior or something worse will happen. He's going to be caged for two weeks and count yourself lucky that's all that's happening to him. If Sebastian had gotten his way, and he campaigned hard enough for it, you pet would be off to the chambers right now."

Sherlock's gaze flickered over to Greg, who gave a small nod to confirm what Mycroft was saying. Sherlock took a deep breath and turned to face his brother. "I understand."

"Good." Mycroft smiled and turned to leave with Greg in tow. "And make certain it doesn't happen again." He called over his shoulder.

XXXX

Sherlock made it a week before he decided he had to see his friend. He waited until four in the morning, when everyone, including the staff had gone to sleep. There would only be a few guards on duty and Sherlock could avoid them easily. He slipped out of his room and crept down the hall, being careful to miss any floorboards that might creak. He'd tested them earlier and mapped the route in his head over the past week.

He managed to get downstairs without running into anyone or being stopped. It would be harder once he got outside, the doghouse had much more security. The doghouse was a small stone building right behind their house with no windows and only one door. He punched in the key-code and the single door opened for him and he slipped inside, easing the door shut to make as little noise as possible.

He moved in haste along the cement floor. At least he didn't have to worry about his footsteps making too much noise. He moved aagainst the wall, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He didn't have as firm a grasp of the layout for the doghouse since owners weren't allowed in it. He'd had a few close calls with the guards, narrowly escaping by the skin of his teeth.

When he finally reached his puppy's cage, his pet was in the corner, lying in the fetal position completely naked. His sandy hair was dirty and matted down from the lack of bathing, his body covered in dirt from the unclean ground. Sherlock's breath hitched as he looked at the scene in front of him.

"Puppy." Sherlock whispered, kneeling down. His friend stirred and lifted his head.

"Sherlock?" he asked as if he could hardly believe it. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." Sherlock replied, giving him a small smile.

"You shouldn't be here, you'll get in trouble."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

Puppy chuckled and moved closer, sliding across his cage so they were facing each other. Sherlock had seen his pet naked countless times and yet after they'd kissed that first time, the image of his pet nude affected him a great deal more. He made an effort not to stare but couldn't help a small, appreciative glance down.

Sherlock slipped his fingers through the bars and his friend reached up and did the same, their fingers lacing together. "Are you alright?" he asked. He really had no idea what happened in the doghouse but he had a vague notion of what might go on. It was frightfully cold and his pet had nothing to keep him warm. Any food he received would be cold and probably tasteless.

"I'm fine." He answered and Sherlock knew he was putting on the brave face for his benefit.

"You mustn't do anything like that again." Sherlock commanded sternly.

"I know, I was out of line. I just didn't like him talking to you like that." He said softly.

"No, I don't care about that." Sherlock waved it off. "Sebastian deserved it. But if you act out again they might chamber you and I can't…" his voice broke and he desperately wanted to reach through the bars and touch his friend properly.

"I won't." puppy promised, lowering his face to press gentle kisses to Sherlock's fingers.

Sherlock eventually had to tear himself away, sneaking back into his room. If Mycroft or anyone else knew what he had done, they didn't say anything. And after another torturous week apart, his puppy was released back to him. The moment they were together again, Sherlock decided it was time to give his pet a name. He let puppy chose even though it was highly unconventional for pets to choose their own names. But Sherlock thought puppy would like that and he wanted a way to say thank you for what his friend had done.

Sherlock didn't like the name puppy chose, it was much too mundane for such an extraordinary person. Still he had to admit it suited him and it was nice to have something to call him. They were getting older and "puppy" would no longer suffice. They finished filling out the paperwork and got his friend his dogtags. Sherlock slipped the chain around his pet's neck and the hung against his chest, the metal sliding together.

He gave his friend a smile, the engraved name gleaming in the metal tags. "John." Sherlock said, using his friend's name for the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

When he turned twenty, Sherlock was finally allowed to move out of his parent's house. Together Sherlock and John moved into a flat in central London, on Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, was a former member of the Holmes household staff and was entrusted with the boy's care. Still, in spite of that, she was pleasant enough and she didn't seem like she was going to be prying into their business too often.

And as they stepped over the threshold of their new home, Sherlock couldn't help the wide smile adorning his face. John set their suitcases down and closed the door behind them, leaving them completely alone.

"We did it John!" Sherlock exclaimed, clapping his hands together in excitement. "We're free!"

John shared his friend's smile but it didn't quite meet his eyes. He didn't bother to mention that he was far from being free. But they were away from the scrutiny of the Holmes family, with the likelihood of being caged considerably lowered, so that was good enough for now. Sherlock spun around once, taking in their new place and then settled back facing John.

"No more Mycroft, no more mummy, no more doing what people tell me. Oh John, I could kiss you."

John felt his face flush with embarrassment and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying not to take what Sherlock said to heart. While kissing was not a new phenomenon for them, it had become somewhat more sporadic. Sherlock had more important things to occupy his time as of late, throwing himself into chemistry, art, music, anything that could hold his attention. Sometimes John was that thing, most times he was not.

"In fact, I think I will." Sherlock said ducking his head down and pressing his lips firmly against John's. Sherlock rested his hands on John's shoulders, the pads of his fingertips pressing into John's skin in a way that wasn't unpleasant. John reached up and slipped his arms around Sherlock's waist, holding him closely.

"Just think John," Sherlock moved his lips to John's cheek. "No one to interrupt us," his lips parted, his tongue joining them to trail down John's jaw "No worrying about someone seeing and disapproving," he sucked at the skin just below John's ear, "Just you and me." He finished by lightly nipping at John's neck, right where his shirt collar met his exposed skin.

"Sherlock." John groaned, twisting his fingers into the mess of dark curls. They relocated to the light brown leather couch, lying on it together, facing each other. John had his hand resting idly on Sherlock's hip with Sherlock clutching John's dogtags possessively, using them to keep him close. Their legs were intertwined, with one of John's draped over Sherlock's, the other pressed between his owner's thighs, rubbing ever so slightly against the visible bulge in his trousers.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, his hand slipped down and made quick work of Sherlock's zip, pushing his trousers down. He paused, waiting for Sherlock to give his consent and was met with an emphatic nod. Sherlock turned onto his back and John slowly descended down, taking Sherlock into his mouth for the first time. For years he had dreamt of doing it and since he had seen Sherlock naked countless times, his imaginings had been very vivid.

Yet it was quite different performing the act in real life. Of teasing the foreskin, massaging the glands with his tongue, taking Sherlock completely into his mouth until there was nothing but heat and throbbing against his tongue. Watching as Sherlock whimpered, thrusting helplessly into John's mouth until he finally came undone, ejaculating into John's mouth so he could finally – oh god yes finally – taste him.

Afterwards, John disappeared upstairs, finding the bathroom and dealing with his own erection. It was law that pets were not allowed to come in front of their owners. It had been put in place to protect pets from being sexually abused. In the past there had been several instances of pet's being mistreated and taken advantage of by their owners. The law stated that pets could please their owners orally or by hand, but the act could not be reciprocated by owners. There were still cases of rape between pets and owners but the law had decreased the number significantly. If you weren't allowed to touch your pet in a sexual manor, there was no risk of them being taken advantage of. It was one of the few rights a pet was allowed.

When John returned downstairs, Sherlock was busy organizing his things, finding places for each item. He gave John a small smile before turning back to what he was doing. John busied himself in the kitchen, finding it fully stocked – probably thanks to Mycroft – and got to work on making them some tea. And while an odd feeling of contentment had washed over him, John couldn't silence the word echoing in his head.

Free.

XXXX

Sherlock and John were on their way home from buying a few essentials for their flat when they stumbled on a crime scene. Sherlock stared, trying to get a good look at the body as they passed. John only looked over once and his eyes landed on a familiar face.

"Sherlock." He said pointing discreetly. "It's Greg."

"Who?" Sherlock asked absentmindedly, still too enthralled with the corpse on the sidewalk.

"Come on." John said tugging at Sherlock's coat sleeve. They ducked under the police tape and made their way over.

"Get back, please." Greg said in an authoritative manner. Sherlock ignored him completely and went to inspect the body while John moved closer so Greg could recognize him. "Johnny!" he almost shouted in delight, rushing forward and embracing the friend he had not seen in years.

Greg had been freed by Mycroft several years prior. After finishing University and starting work at the British Government, Mycroft had decided he no longer needed a companion, at least not one like Greg. Mycroft had upgraded to a new pet named Anthea who was essentially just a PA but with out a salary. Greg had been set free and Mycroft had even gotten him a job working in the Metropolitan Police Force, which was uncharacteristically kind of Greg's former owner. There were a few jobs open to former pets, one of them working as the police. Pretty much any dirty, difficult job that other people didn't want to do. Working on the force was one of the better jobs available and Greg had been lucky.

"How have you been?" John asked his old friend.

"I've been good. Keeping busy. What about you? I see you're still with Sherlock."

"Yep, still."

"Any luck finding - "

"No." John cut him off, well aware that Sherlock was in earshot, even if he did seem to be engrossed in his current task.

"Shame." Greg replied sympathetically.

"Your killer is a man, approximately 6'1 who is missing or has a broken ring finger." Sherlock interrupted them abruptly.

"What?" Greg asked, turning his attention to Sherlock.

And just like that the evening stopped being about connecting with an old friend and became all about solving a murder.

XXXX

John had no idea when they drugs started, all he knew was one day they were just there. Sherlock was fluttering around the flat and refused to keep still. He was high as a kite and wouldn't stop for anything. It pained John to see his friend in such a state, running around their flat as if chasing something John couldn't see.

And yet he had no idea how to make Sherlock stop. He had tried and failed on several occasions to talk to him about it, but Sherlock would only mumble something about needing the drugs and shut John out completely. His drastic action of throwing Sherlock's stash away had resulted in ten lashes with the riding crop.

So when he awoke on the brisk Autumn morning and walked downstairs to find a still pajama-clad Sherlock, with a strap around his upper arm and a needle poised and ready to go into his arm, John found himself at a loss. He dropped to his knees in front of his friend and slowly began to kiss along the trackmarks on Sherlock's arm.

"Please." John begged against Sherlock's skin, his eyes closed as he pleaded his case. "Don't do this to yourself."

"John." Sherlock said gently, his fingers pushing into John's hair.

"It's killing me to see you like this." John rubbed his face against the scarred skin. "Please."

"Alright." Sherlock conceded, putting the needle down and undoing the strap on his arm.

When John arrived home hours later from doing the shopping, Sherlock was lying sprawled out on the couch, his hands praying up to the ceiling. The syringe was empty and John's heart broke just a little bit. He tried to ignore it as he put the groceries away until Sherlock called out his name. He reluctantly went into the sitting room and waited, his arms crossed defiantly. He didn't care if he got a lashing for it, he wasn't going to condone that kind of behavior.

"Come sit by me." Sherlock requested and John couldn't help moving across the room and sitting on the floor next to the sofa. Sherlock slipped his fingers into John's hair and stroked him lovingly. "I was trying to do it so you wouldn't see."

"That doesn't make it all right, Sherlock." John said with a heavy sigh.

"You care about me."

It wasn't a question but John felt compelled to respond anyway. "Of course I do."

"Then let me have this, John."

"Why do you need it?"

"It helps me think, helps me focus. There's so much going on up here." Sherlock pointed to his head for emphasis. "The cocaine silences what isn't important and brings to the front everything that is."

"I still don't like it."

"You don't have to like it, you just have to tolerate it."

XXXX

The first time John brought up his possible release, it did not go well. He had gotten the forms with the help of Greg and set them down on the table in front of Sherlock. His owner eyed them for no more than a second and turned his gaze to John. "What are these?"

"They're release forms." John answered even though he knew Sherlock was perfectly aware of what they were.

Sherlock's face instantly fell into a frown, looking frightfully displeased. "Why do you have them?"

"Sherlock, we're not kids any longer. You don't need me anymore. It's getting to the point where you have to decide if you're going to collar me or let me go. You're so busy with your cases that you don't need a companion anymore, you don't need a pet. Just release me."

Sherlock clenched and unclenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "John, have I mistreated you in some way?"

"What?" John gaped at him for a moment. "No, of course not."

"Is this about the drugs?"

"No, I mean you know how I feel about them but that's not why—"

"Then why are you suddenly so desperate to get away from me? Have you grown tired of my company John?" Sherlock's eyes were blazing and there seemed to be just a trace of hurt in them.

"Sherlock, I'm not trying to get away from you."

"Then what do you call this then?" Sherlock shouted, pushing the papers away in disgust.

"My freedom!" John matched his volume level, suddenly seething. He took a few breaths to calm down, knowing that a shouting match was the last thing to help his cause. "Sherlock, we'll still be friends. Releasing me doesn't mean that stops, it just means that my life is my own. I'm not going to abandon you."

"You. Are. Not. Leaving." Sherlock said through gritted teeth, angrily pushing back his chair so it fell to the floor with a thud. He stalked off to his room to sulk, slamming the door behind him to signal that the discussion was over.

XXXX

John still brought it up and every time Sherlock would skulk off into his room, locking the door. It was extraordinary how childish he could be. John slid down so he was sitting up against Sherlock's bedroom door and scrubbed his hand over his face. "Can you not keep doing this please?" he called through the door. It was met with a deafening silence. "Sherlock, we have to talk about this."

The door flung open so quickly that John had to catch himself on the door frame before he fell into the room. He looked up to see Sherlock standing there, his lips pursed into a straight line, his brow furrowed unhappily. "I am through talking about this John. I will never sign something that allows you to leave me."

"For Christ's sake Sherlock how many times do I have to tell you?" John asked scrambling to his feet, making sure he was in Sherlock's room so the door couldn't be closed in his face again. "I'm not leaving you."

"Then what difference does it make?"

"You can't be serious." John said staring at his friend in disbelief.

"What's so important?"

"It's my freedom Sherlock!" John cried out desperately. "I shouldn't need a reason to want it. Why won't you just sign the papers?"

"Because you're mine John. I'm not giving you up."

"I'm never going to stop asking for this."

"And I'm never going to say yes." Sherlock countered, his eyes dark and menacing. John believed that he meant it. This time it was John who stormed out, going up to his room and locking the door behind him.

XXXX

John arrived home from doing the shopping, struggling to carry the four heavy bags up the stairs to their flat. Thankfully the door was unlocked so he pushed his way in. He was about to call out the Sherlock that he had returned when his eyes settled on something on the table. He dropped the bags instantly, a few apples rolling across the floor.

John moved slowly towards the table, his eyes widening in horror. Resting on John's side of the table was a bright red collar with a black leash. John's fingers brushed against the leather in confusion and dread. He felt his lips quivering and knew he very close to breaking down in tears.

"Ah John, you're home." Sherlock said nonchalantly as he stepped into the room with an open book in his hands. As if nothing were out of the ordinary.

John swallowed hard, turning his distress into anger. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, picking up the collar.

Sherlock eyed him and gave him a wry smile. "Surely you don't need me to tell you that."

"Yes, alright, I know what it is. Why is it here Sherlock?"

"You said that I either had to release you or collar you and since we both know I have no intention of releasing you, I went out and got you a collar." Sherlock explained as if he was talking to a child. John hated when Sherlock spoke to him like that, like he was an idiot, when Sherlock felt he should grasp things on his own.

"I was pointing out your options, I didn't actually want you to collar me."

"Well I felt it was necessary." Sherlock replied with a shrug, his attention going down to the book in his hands.

John's anger built up inside him, gripping him tightly, until he couldn't think straight. He threw the collar violently and it smashed against the lamp, breaking it. Sherlock looked startled and at least John had his attention. "Fuck you Sherlock. Just fuck you. How can you be so heartless about something so important to me?"

"John, we've had this discussion and it's getting redundant." Sherlock replied, closing his book, keeping his finger in his place as a bookmark, and sitting down on the couch, crossing his legs. He pointedly reopened his book and began reading again.

John's hands curled into fists and he had no idea what he might do. He wanted to throttle Sherlock, which was a first. While he was often furious with his owner, he'd never wished him physical harm before. Instead he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock asked, his eyes never leaving his book.

"Pub." It was all John trusted himself to say. He stepped around the shopping bags he had dropped and wrenched the door open.

"No you're not."

"Yes I bloody well am." John snapped. He was so close to breaking and if Sherlock continued to push, John would not be responsible for his actions. He took another step out the door.

"John, get back here."

John froze. It was a direct order and he would pay dearly for ignoring it. And yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Sherlock could whip him until he couldn't walk, beat him until he was black and blue. He would deal with it later but for now he had to get the hell out of there.

"No." he said before stepping through the door and slamming it behind him.

XXXX

"You actually told him no?" Greg asked in astonishment when they were at the pub. John had called him on his way and invited Greg along to get sloshed with him. They sat in a booth and John recounted the story.

"I had to." John insisted. "I couldn't stay in there."

"You're going to be in for a mess of trouble when you get home." Greg warned, sipping his pint.

"I don't care. Physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he's putting me through. I don't understand why he won't budge on releasing me. He's hardly ever home, when he is he's strung out on coke and all I do is chores. I'm like a glorified housekeeper. What's the point in keeping me for that? Surely there are others more suitable for the task."

"Why don't you tell him the reason you want to be freed? He might be more inclined to do so."

John gave him a dubious look. "He doesn't give a shit. All he cares about is that I don't leave, for whatever reason. He thinks the moment he signs those papers, I'm going to abandon him."

"Well…you are in a way. That is if you're still planning to do what we talked about."

"I'm going to come back though, it wasn't like I was expecting to never see him again!" John rubbed the back of his neck in irritation.

"You should tell him, he might be sympathetic." Greg suggested. John snorted in response. "Look, I know Sherlock can be a cold, unfeeling bastard but he was never like that with you."

"Maybe not before." John sighed, taking a large gulp of his beer. "Things have been different lately. He all but ignores me most of the time and then the moment I bring up getting released everything changes. First he sulks in his room, then he won't let me out of his sight, before long he's back to ignoring me and we start the whole thing over again. It's maddening."

"John, you're the only friend he has."

"Yes bought and paid for and trained to be the perfect, compliant little companion." John spat bitterly.

"Maybe you should take your mind off things for awhile."

"Oh yeah, and how should I do that?" John challenged, up for anything at this point.

"That bird at the bar has been looking at you. Why don't you go say hi?" Greg grinned mischievously. "She might be a good distraction for a while."

"Sherlock would kill me."

"Sherlock doesn't need to know. Just go talk to her. I've got to get going anyhow, work early." Greg said getting up out of the booth and slipping into his coat. He gave John's shoulder a squeeze before heading out, leaving John alone. He sat for a long time, finishing his beer in silence, lost in his thoughts.

When he went to the bar to get another beer, the girl Greg had pointed out was still sitting there. He gave her a small smile and sat down at the stool next to her. She was pretty, with brown hair and kind eyes. They sat together and talked until last call. When John left for home, he had a piece of paper with her number written on it and a sense of accomplishment.

XXXX

Her name was Sarah and she was middle class. It meant her family had been rich enough that none of them would become pets but they weren't wealthy enough to own pets either. John had to admit he liked that. And when he told her that he belonged to someone else, she didn't seem the least bit fazed by it.

It was easy enough to find time to see her, he didn't even have to sneak out. Sherlock was back to ignoring him and he was wrapped up in another case. It was nice, being able to spend time with someone without Sherlock's permission. It felt vaguely like having a life of his own. Sarah was one of the nicest people he had ever met and they connected quite easily.

He was still a bit unnerved that his obstinacy the other night had gone unpunished. When he arrived home, Sherlock had been locked away in his room. When he woke the next morning, Sherlock and John side-stepped each other, trying to keep out of the other's way. He kept waiting for Sherlock to do something, to tell him to drop his pants and bend over the bed to be lashed. It never happened though and it was rather unsettling.

Things had been awkward between them but at least Sherlock hadn't said anything more about the collar to John's relief. And even though he was still angry with Sherlock and desperately wanted his freedom, he was grateful that Sherlock wasn't pressing the matter.

Sometimes, not all the time but occasionally, John missed his friend. When he retired to his room at night and could still hear Sherlock shuffling around downstairs, John found himself wanting to go down and join him. He missed the closeness they had once shared, the stolen kisses and laughing together. Sometimes he'd close his eyes and could feel Sherlock's fingers in his hair, stroking him tenderly. It rare, very rare, but every once in a while, John craved being treated like a pet, if only to have Sherlock's attention for a sort time before something else snatched it away.

Which was probably why John found himself getting out of bed at four o'clock in the morning and heading downstairs. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. John knew he was high but he didn't say anything. Instead he sat down on the floor, leaning against the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest. Sherlock absentmindedly slipped his hand into John's hair and they both made sighs of contentment.

"It's been a long time since we've done this." Sherlock mused as his fingers brushed the hair by John's ear.

"Sherlock, why are you so against my being freed? We hardly behave like a pet and an owner anymore."

The hand in his hair tightened, gripping at the short strands. John knew he was ruining their quiet moment but he couldn't stop himself. Maybe it was because everything was so still and he wasn't looking at Sherlock that he found the courage to ask.

"Because when I was seven years old, I walked through the pound and I chose you."

"Why?" John had never understood why Sherlock picked him out of the forty pets that were in the pound that day.

"I thought you were interesting." Sherlock confessed, loosening his grip and going back to caressing John softly. "Everyone one else stared at me, their eyes pleading for me to choose them, to save them I suppose. You didn't, in fact you hardly looked at me at all, like you didn't care. I found it fascinating."

"And you never wondered why I behaving that way?"

"Of course I did."

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

"Do you know what they did to us in there? We were trained to be good pets, beaten and abused until we were all submissive."

"I know."

"How?"

"I could see it. The bruises, the burn marks probably from a cattle prod. It was written all over your body."

"Yes, all of the kids didn't handle it well. Most nights you fell asleep to a chorus of people crying their eyes out."

"But not you. You have a remarkably high tolerance for pain." Sherlock explained when John looked at him questioningly.

"I think it hurt more, hearing other people's pain. It always hurt more than my own." John said quietly, hugging his knees tighter. "And while you were busy deducing me, did you happen to notice the girl in the cage next to me?"

"Not really, why?"

"It was my sister."

"That's very odd." Sherlock said pensively. "Most pets are taken at birth. You couldn't have known someone was your sister."

"I wasn't born a pet Sherlock, my parents died in a car crash when I was four. With no living relative, my sister and I became pets. My parents were middle class, if they hadn't of died, I wouldn't have been a pet at all. John isn't just the name I chose, it's the name my parents gave me. John Watson."

"Why didn't you tell me all this sooner?"

"You never asked." John said with a shrug. "I assumed you didn't really care."

It was easier for some reason, to whisper all of this in the dark room, the sun just barely rising.

"Of course I care John." Sherlock insisted. "Sometimes I think you're the only thing I care about."

"I want to find her Sherlock. It's why I want to be free, so I can track down my sister. You have no idea what it's like to live these past twelve years wondering what's happened to her. I don't even know if she's alive."

"If I let you do that, if I let you search for her, how long would you be gone?"

"Indefinitely. I don't know how long it will take, I don't even know if she ever got an owner."

"Then you're not doing it."

"What?" John asked, getting to his feet.

"It could take years John, I won't allow it." Sherlock sat up and tented his fingers under his chin, watching John.

"Sherlock, I have to find her. Are you really that selfish?"

"Yes, is that news to you?" Sherlock asked, his gaze penetrating.

"No." John shook his head, wondering how someone could be so cruel. He'd finally poured his heart out, told Sherlock about his plight and Sherlock still wouldn't free him. "No."

"Good. Then you will do well to remember that you are mine John and I do not relinquish what I own, not for anything and certainly not so you can go searching for your sister and possibly never come back."

John gaped at Sherlock, perhaps truly seeing the man for the first time. Fear spread through him like a cancer, filling his soul. He'd never be free, Sherlock would never give him up. He was trapped in this life forever, bound to this man for the rest of his days. And while some days he wanted nothing more, at that moment it filled him with dread.

He needed to get out of there, he needed to think, needed to breathe. It was like Sherlock's hold on him was a physical presence now, gripping him tightly and choking him. He might as well have been wearing that damn collar. He needed space and to get away from those gray intense eyes, staring at him possessively. Before he could think, he sprinted to the door and pulled it open.

He didn't stop running until he was safely in the pub, with a cold pint in his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: This was very difficult to write so I imagine it might be difficult to read. All I can say is I'm sorry. Proceed with caution.

Sherlock was fuming, pacing the floor of their flat. He tugged his fingers through his curls as he moved, trying to calm down. What did John want from him? He couldn't possibly think for a moment that Sherlock would actually let him leave. What if he never came back? What incentive would he have once he was free? He shouldn't have had to give John up, John was his. He had been for the past thirteen years.

Sherlock was going out of his mind. Where had John gone? It was getting late and he still wasn't home. If someone decided to scan John's dogtags, they would see that he was out without his owner. Pets weren't allowed out after ten without their owner. What if he got pinched? He'd be sent to the public Doghouse, where pets often came back bruised and bloodied. He couldn't let that happen to John.

He grabbed his phone and brought up the GPS tracking. The chip in John's tag had a homing beacon that would let Sherlock find him. He recognized the address as the pub John often frequented. He slipped on his coat and stopped for a moment. Tentatively, he walked over to where John had thrown the collar and picked it up. It couldn't hurt to be too cautious. They'd avoid being stopped and questioned by patrols if John was on a leash.

He slipped them into his pocket and headed out. He kept his phone in his hand as he walked, making sure John didn't move from the pub. Thankfully he stayed put and before he knew it, Sherlock had arrived. He pushed the door open and froze.

John was sitting in a booth with a woman. Sherlock ducked behind the coat rack where he still had a clear view of them. He watched as John and the woman flirted. She had her back to Sherlock so he couldn't see her very well but he could see John. There was a stupid grin adorning his face and he was laughing. He reached his hand across the table and touched hers lightly.

"You alright mate?" a random bar patron asked him.

"Piss off." He shot back quickly, not wanting to draw John's attention over to him. He glanced over but John was still deep in conversation with this mysterious woman. Sherlock pushed off the wall and walked over, slipping to collar from his pocket.

"Sherlock?" John's eyes widened in shock when he noticed Sherlock's approach. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to fetch you." He replied, fingering the collar. John's eyes lowered and his jaw dropped when he noticed it.

"Sherlock, you can't—"

"That's quite enough John." Sherlock interrupted curtly. "Time to go home."

"You're not serious."

"Now." Sherlock bellowed and John instantly got to his feet. Sherlock clasped the collar around John's neck and held tightly onto the leash. Then he all but dragged John out of the pub while John dug in his heels, making it as difficult as possible.

"Sherlock that was completely embarrassing and totally uncalled for." John yelled once they had cleared the door.

"John, you are not to speak to me until we get home." Sherlock demanded. No matter how angry John was, Sherlock was ten times that. They both were furious and Sherlock practically stomped the entire way home, pulling John behind him.

XXXX

The moment they got back to Baker Street, John rounded on Sherlock, assuming his talking ban was over. "What is the matter with you?"

"Me?" Sherlock hollered, slamming the door shut behind them. "You're the one who's been acting out."

"That's because you're being bloody stubborn." John countered, reaching up to undo the collar. Sherlock was on him in seconds, pinning him against the wall.

"Did I tell you that you could take it off?" Sherlock growled.

"I'm not wearing it." John insisted.

"You will wear it if I tell you to wear it." Sherlock said, his rage building inside him, making him feel ready to explode at any second.

"Why? Why are you suddenly so intent on collaring me? This was never an issue before!" John yelled in exasperation.

"You have offended me in the gravest manner possible. You've betrayed my trust. And I was actually stupid enough to believe your story about a sister." Sherlock snarled. John had never seen Sherlock this angry and it worried him. He decided to back down, hopefully try to calm his friend.

"It wasn't a story."

"All this time you wanted to leave me for _her_." Sherlock spat out the last word in disgust.

"I don't, I don't!" John insisted. "I hardly know her."

"Stop lying to me." Sherlock roared, grabbing John by the arm and pushing him roughly against the wall.

"I'm not!" John replied desperately.

"I don't care if you've found someone more to your liking. I don't care how desperate you are to be rid of my company. You will never get away from me John because I am selfish and needy and _you are_ _mine_. I will keep you with me until one of us is dead, not a moment sooner."

John opened his mouth to respond and was instantly met with Sherlock's lips crushing against his. The pressure of his lips was hard enough to bruise and his tongue was roaming, exploring John's mouth as if he was invading it. Both of Sherlock's hands were fisted in John's jumper, and he began pulling him towards the bedroom by the leash.

When they got into the bedroom, Sherlock removed the collar, much to John's relief. But then John was pushed roughly onto the bed as Sherlock pinned him down with his legs, his hands tugging his jumper up. "Sherlock, stop. What are you doing?" John asked trying to keep Sherlock from removing his clothes.

Sherlock just growled in response and managed to pull John's jumper off in one quick movement. The moment the cloth passed John's mouth, Sherlock's lips were on his again, attacking him vigorously. His long, slender fingers undid John's zip and John broke away from the kiss to protest.

"Sherlock, please stop. You can't do this. We can't do this, it's illegal." John reminds him in an ill-conceived attempt to get Sherlock to stop what he was doing. But Sherlock looked manic with nothing but hunger in his eyes. The look terrified John to no end.

Sherlock latched himself onto John's neck and sucked and bit at his skin while expertly unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it from his shoulders. John tried to push Sherlock off him, tried to kick him away but Sherlock wasn't budging. He was strong, so deceptively strong, holding John down and stopping any attempts to get free.

"Stop. Please. Don't." John cried out as Sherlock pulled John's trousers off, followed swiftly by his underwear. John's pleading did nothing to deter Sherlock's lust and the sight of John naked fueled it further.

"Sherlock, please don't do this." John begged as Sherlock flipped John over onto his stomach, hand shoving his head into the mattress, holding him down. John could hear as Sherlock undid his own fly. John tried to raise his head or move his body, to do something but each movement seemed to be anticipated by Sherlock and quelled swiftly.

"Stop fighting me." Sherlock commanded and so John went limp, doing what he always did when Sherlock hurt him. He concentrated on his breathing and would lie there and take it.

Sherlock shed the rest of his clothes and spread John's legs, kneeling in the space between them. His hand spread John's cheeks apart and lowered his face, licking the perineum up to John's hole. John's body tensed as Sherlock's tongue worked him open, darting in and invading his body.

"Please stop." John sobbed against the pillow, his hands clutching the sheets. It wasn't too late to put an end to this but Sherlock continued to ignore him as he worked past the ring of muscles and plunged his tongue into John's opening.

John felt a finger slip in as well, moving deeper than the tongue and John shut his eyes tight, burying his face in the pillow to keep from screaming or crying, he wasn't sure which. Sherlock removed his tongue and replaced it with another finger, working them in and out in small pulses. He knelt on the bed, his cock leaking with precome. He smeared it over the head and lined himself up behind John.

"Don't." John lifted his head, opening his eyes a fraction. He couldn't look at Sherlock, keeping his eyes blurry so they couldn't fixate on anything. "I'll stay with you, I won't leave. I promise. Just don't do this, please."

He felt Sherlock bending over him, his hardened cocks pressed against John's back. "Not enough John. I'm going to take you and possess you so fully that there's no doubt who you belong to."

"I'm yours." John choked out. "I've always been yours. Please Sherlock."

"You don't believe that or you wouldn't want to leave me. But I'm going to show you." Sherlock whispered harshly against his ear.

"I'll stay, I'll stay with you. Just stop."  
>"Too late." Sherlock responded.<p>

John felt something pressing against his hole and it pushed just barely inside of him. He clenched his body, trying to stop it in the only way he knew how. He could feel hot tears stinging in his eyes but he couldn't wipe them away. Instead he brushed his cheek against the pillow, doing his best.

Sherlock was lying on top of him, his breath in John's ear. It was Sherlock's turn to beg but for a completely different reason. "Please John, let me in. Don't deny me this. If you turn me away now I think I'll go mad. I need this John, I need you. Every day I've wanted this. So badly John, you have no idea. Please, open yourself up to me. Please."

John took a deep breath and tried to relax. He knew this would be much more unpleasant if he didn't. He bit down on the pillow to keep from crying out as Sherlock pushed inside him. His body was overcome with pain and his nails dug into the mattress.

Sherlock moved in deeper until finally John could feel Sherlock's hips against his arsecheeks. "John." Sherlock groaned as he slid home, buried completely in. For a few moments they stayed perfectly still and the pain subsided, replaced with the uncomfortable feeling of being violated, with something foreign inside his body, overtaking him.

"Thank you." Sherlock murmured against John's skin as he placed kisses anywhere he could reach. John shuddered in response but didn't trust himself to say anything so he kept himself hidden against the pillow.

Then Sherlock started to move, holding himself up with his hands on either side of John's body. He rolled his hips once, his cock sliding slowly out and then back in. He pushed himself down and then back up, his cocking moving again, the thrusts small and slow.

He started moving faster, finding a pleasurable pace and John felt utterly mystified. He wanted to hate it, it wasn't what he wanted at all. He'd imagined this moment hundreds of times but it was always as a free man who could make a conscious decision. Not like this, with Sherlock taking him as if he was nothing more than an object with no input at all.

But it was Sherlock, and John's desire for his owner was palpable, it always had been. He wanted this, God help him, but he couldn't hinder the feeling that this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. His terror was mixing with pleasure and confusing the hell out of him. Especially when Sherlock's cock began stimulating his prostate, rubbing against it on each powerful thrust. John was left not knowing how to react and so he whimpered helplessly against his tear stained pillow.

He wasn't hard. His mind was screaming and his body wasn't listening but between the penetration and his complete bafflement, he didn't think he could get hard even if he wanted to. Sherlock's thrusts were more erratic now and he barreled into John with fervor and intensity. He was gripping John by the shoulders and pushing himself in with his stomach rubbing against John's back. And with a few final thrusts, Sherlock came, his nails digging into John's shoulder as he shouted something incomprehensible.

Sherlock pulled out and scrambled to the other side of the bed the moment he got a look at John. Sherlock stared in horror at John's tear-streaked face and it looked as if the gravity of what he had just done washed over him. It was like something had possessed Sherlock and now it had subsided so he had returned to himself. John never cried, not even when Sherlock whipped him so hard he bled. But Sherlock had finally broken him and the realization of that finally dawned on him. Sherlock pulled into himself, curling into a strange ball. He had his knees drawn up to his chest and his head buried in his arms. It was a strange sight of pale flesh and dark curls.

John kept very still but turned his head to look at his owner. Sherlock wasn't moving, John wasn't even sure he was breathing. John rolled onto his back, hissing as he put pressure on his bum. He sat up and pulled the covers over and up to his chest to get some resemblance of modesty back. He didn't know if he should say something, he didn't know what he possibly could say.

He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, wondering where they could possibly go from here. He wouldn't turn Sherlock in; he couldn't do that. It was the most logical move but even after what he'd done, John didn't know how to react. He was devastated but obviously Sherlock was as well. It shouldn't have happened this way. It could have been so much better, so much more. He lifted his hand to touch Sherlock but he just couldn't, instead letting his hand fall heavily back down onto the bed.

Sherlock finally lifted his head, glancing sideways at John. "John I - " However that sentence was going to end came out as a strangled cry in Sherlock's throat. He catapulted himself off the bed and wrenched the door open, disappearing in a blur of white skin and long limbs. John could feel Sherlock's come leaking out of his hole and he shifted uncomfortably, gasping as the pain of such a small movement stung him. He heard the front door close and realized Sherlock had left.

Carefully, John eased out of the bed and got into the shower. He made it so the water was scalding and stood under it until his skin was red and then he scrubbed himself raw. When he was finished he went upstairs to his own room, locking the door behind him. He hissed and groaned as he forced himself into his pajamas and slipped slowly into bed. It took a long time, but finally sleep overtook him.

XXXX

When John awoke the next morning, the door to his bedroom was open even though he was certain he had locked it. When he rolled over onto his stomach, he heard papers crinkle underneath him. Lifting himself up, he grabbed whatever it was and eased back down.

His eyes were still blurry from sleep and he rubbed them to get the sleep out. When he vision had cleared he recognized the papers instantly. He bolted upright in the bed and instantly regretted it. He was still sore and suddenly the previous evening flooded back. He allowed himself a single shudder before he turned his focus back to the papers in his hand. They were his release forms.

He turned to the third page and sure enough there was Sherlock's name in his usual flowery script. He stared at it in disbelief, blinking in shock. He was free. Sherlock had released him. He was free. He was so elated, he flung the covers back and decided to go find Sherlock. He had to thank him for this. Even if he had committed an unforgivable act the night before, this was the most wonderful thing he had ever done. It didn't exactly make up for it, but it helped. It definitely helped.

When he got downstairs, he couldn't find Sherlock anywhere. The flat seemed cold and empty, like Sherlock had been gone for a while. All he found was a letter on their shared desk space, addressed to him. Inside there was money, more than John had ever had in his hands at one time. There was also information on his sister, when and who had finally bought her as a pet. It was a place to start. How had Sherlock accomplished this all in one evening? John assumed Mycroft must have helped in some way.

Still, where was Sherlock? Why had he not given John all this in person? The final thing in the envelope was a letter. He recognized Sherlock's handwriting but he took a moment to read it. When he was finished, he went upstairs to pack.

He didn't own a substantial amount of belongings. In the end everything that was his fit into one suitcase. It was rather pathetic really but Sherlock had never been the kind of owner to dote and give John expensive things. Mycroft had been like that with Greg when they were together. Mycroft had insisted on Greg being well dressed and showering him with gifts. Probably thought it was the best way to earn Greg's affection.

But John had never needed much and Sherlock understood that. And now Sherlock had given him the only thing he truly wanted. He wished he could tell Sherlock how grateful he was but he understood from the letter why Sherlock had chosen to be absent. So John carried his one bag downstairs and said goodbye to a place that had felt like home.

His final act was to take off his dogtags and leave them on Sherlock's bed, resting on his pillow. He was amazed he could even set foot in the room after what had occurred there. Yet he ran his hand over the bed, his mind flashing with memories. This was where he'd been beaten, where he'd bled, where he'd been raped. But the only thing that came to mind was Sherlock's face, twisted in agony every time he had hurt John. Whatever he had been going to say before he tore out of the room still hung in the air. It was no way to say goodbye. Not to someone he had known for most of his life. Sherlock was a lot of things, but above all he was John's friend and he couldn't bring himself to hate him.

So with one last look around the sitting room, John locked the door and left 221B Baker Street. He now had a place to start in looking for his sister and that felt good. His neck and chest felt weird without the dogtags there but he assumed he'd get used to it. He stood on the front stoop of what had been his home with Sherlock and found himself unable to step away. He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully and wondered what was the matter with him.

He'd wanted this all his life so why couldn't he just leave? It was probably because he'd not had a proper goodbye with Sherlock. He put his hand on his chest and felt the letter Sherlock had written him, safely tucked away in his jacket pocket. Knowing he had it comforted him and gave him the resolve to finally step off the front stoop. He could go anywhere he liked now and for whatever reason that terrified him.


	4. Chapter 4

` Thanks to the information given to John by Sherlock, finding Harry's previous owner was quite simple. The family lived in Bristol and John felt nervous as he stood on their doorstep, knocking loudly. For a while it seemed like no one was home but then he saw some movement in the window upstairs, just a figure sliding the curtains back to look and then they disappeared. A few moments later the door opened.

"Can I help you?"

The girl who answered the door looked to be a few years older than John, just about Harry's age. She was pretty with light brown hair but she looked positively exhausted. The circles under her eyes were deep and dark, as if she hadn't slept for weeks.

"Are you Clara?" he asked, reading the name off the sheet Sherlock had given him.

"Yes." She looked suspicious and hugged the door tighter to her body so John couldn't see inside at all.

"I'm John Watson, according to the information I was given, my sister was your pet?"

"You're John?" she said, warming slightly as if she recognized the name.

"Yes."

"Oh well come on in." she said holding the door open for him. He was confounded by the rapid change in her mood but stepped in all the same. "Harry talked about you often."

She was talking in the past tense, which made John's blood run cold. "Is she here?" he asked, hopeful.

"No I…perhaps we better sit down." Clara said, staring down at the floor. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thanks." He said following her into the living room. He sat down on the couch while she disappeared into the kitchen. John looked around at the place his sister had grown up. It was a nice house, nothing too fancy but not in shambles either. It would have been a nice place to live as a child and Clara seemed pleasant enough. Things could have been a lot worse. The only question was, where was Harry now?

"Here you are John." Clara said once she'd reentered the room. She held out a cup that was perfectly warm. John cradled it in his hands and took a few sips before asking about his sister. Clara did an audible sigh before putting her tea down and sitting up a little straighter.

"A few years ago, Harry and I were pretty wild. We both liked partying, going out to clubs and getting pissed. There was some drug abuse and a lot of men and women both. We were pretty promiscuous. I want you to know that I adored your sister. She was my best friend and sometimes I think I loved her, not just as a pet but as a person."

Clara swallowed hard and glanced away, staring out the window wistfully. "After my parents died, it was just Harry and I. They left me this house in their will. It turned out to be more than I could afford. There was a mortgage on the house and I was working as a waitress. Harry helped out as best she could but two minimum wage jobs weren't going to pay for the house. I started borrowing money, more than I could ever hope to pay back. Finally, someone came to collect."

"And you gave them Harry." John filled in for her.

"I had to!" she insisted desperately, breaking down into tears. "They would have taken the house if I hadn't. This is all that's left of my parents. I couldn't just give it away."

"Clara." John said doing his best to remain calm. "Who has my sister?"

"There was a name. That's all I ever got was a name. I never saw him in person. Two thugs came and collected her. I never even got to say goodbye."

"What was the name?"

When Clara was finally able to speak, her eyes showed just how terrified she was. "Moriarty."

XXXX

Whoever Moriarty was, he was not easily found. There were whispers, nothing more. Each person John talked to either shied away from the subject or just flat out refused to talk to him. Once he had even gotten a thrashing for his trouble, a beefy man he'd approached on the subject had beaten him senseless.

It took two months before John found someone who could possibly help him. He was sitting in a bar in Lancashire, waiting for his contact. He sipped his pint and watched the door. He shifted uneasily against the wooden bench beneath him, nervous about this meet up. After months of approaching people, this person had finally found him. There'd been a note slipped under the door of his hotel room with a time and a place scribbled down hastily. Now John was here and he worried about what sort of person would come through the door.

He instinctively reached up and patted his chest pocket, where he kept Sherlock's letter. He knew it was worn through in the corners and creases from him reading it each night. He missed Sherlock more than he cared to say and found the letter to be a comfort. He'd often found himself at payphones, a few numbers in to Sherlock's phone number before he'd hang up. He was afraid hearing Sherlock's voice would be too much and he'd return home. He couldn't do that, not without seeing this through. So until he could go home, he would have absolutely no contact with his former owner.

A man entered the bar and looked around, making John assume that was his contact. The man was very odd looking, with dark hair and beady eyes. There was something about him that made John dislike him instantly even though he had no reason for it. The man made his way over, glancing around like he was expecting someone to stop him.

"You John Watson?" he asked standing next to the booth.

"Yes." John nodded and the other man slipped into the booth.

"Anderson. I understand you're looking for a way to find Moriarty."

"That's correct."

"Are you suicidal?" Anderson asked, his eyebrow cocked.

"No."

"Then I suggest you give up now. It's a fool's errand."

"Can you get me in or not?" John asked impatiently. He'd had two months of this shit and he was at the end of his tether.

"I can show you where to go and how to get in but I can't take you there myself."

"How do you know where he is?" John asked, skeptical of this information, especially because it was being offered up freely.

"I used to be one of his pets."

"He has more than one?"

"Are you kidding?" Anderson replied, looking at John like he was an idiot. "Moriarty never has less than twenty pets, usually he has more. They're his own personal slaves and occasionally his harem."

John shuddered, thinking of his sister in that situation. "But if he's mistreating pets, why doesn't someone do something about it?"

Anderson snorted. "Like who? Moriarty got half the political bigwigs elected, they owe him. He's loaned half of London money. Basically the man is untouchable."

"Then how did you escape?"

"Got lucky. There was a flaw in the security and I managed to slip through it."

"How?"

"There's a vent that leads to the outside, it's too tall to reach on your own, thankfully I had help. We had a five minute window in which that vent would be unguarded and we both would have made it out if they hadn't decided to do their rounds early. I was in the vent and ready to pull my partner up when they caught her."

"So I can use the vent to gain access in."

"I believe so, yes. They won't seal it off or it will fuck up the ventilation system. You should be fine."

"Ok." John said getting out a notepad and a pen. "Tell me everything. The layout, the grounds, where he keeps the pets, everything."

XXXX

John was crouched in the weeds, staring up the largest and most extravagant mansion he had ever seen in his life. He'd always thought the house he'd grown up in with Sherlock was nice but this was just on a whole other level. It was a large brown Victorian with the grounds neatly kept. He could see the guards walking around, patrolling the massive estate.

Thanks to Anderson, he found a hole in the fence that surrounded the house and slipped through undetected. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the rather crude map Anderson had drawn him. He checked to make sure he was on the right side of the house and then put it back, scanning for the vent. He found the grill hidden in some bushes and got to work unscrewing the corners. It was all working just like Anderson had said.

He was appreciative of his small size as he began climbing along the small piping of the vents. As he moved, he made sure the loudest thing was his heartbeat in his ears. The vents were cold and it was taking everything in him not to shiver. Then he heard a popping noise and what sounded like something tumbling towards him. He looked around desperately for a place to retreat but was suddenly smacked head on with a burst of air. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so if he weren't so cold. He relished in the heat for a moment and then continued moving.

He only took the map out one other time, to make sure he was headed in the right direction. If he dropped out of the vents in the wrong room, he could be caught instantly. When he was certain he was headed the right way, he folded it back up and slipped it into his pocket. As he moved along the vent, closer to the main part of the house, the tunnel he occupied grew warmer, making the bursts of heat uncomfortable.

He was sweating under his dark jeans and long sleeved black shirt. He cautiously brought his hand up to his brow to wipe away the sweat accumulating there. He took a few deep breaths and listened for any kind of movement. When he was sure he was alone, he pushed the vent opening down, and peeked out to see if anyone had noticed.

He held for a few moments before beginning his descent. He put his legs in first and held himself by his arms with most of him sticking out. It was a twelve foot drop but it wouldn't be too bad as long as he didn't land on his ankle funny or something. He slipped down further, so he was hanging by his fingertips and with one final deep breath, let go.

He fell to the ground with relative ease. There was a quick pain in his legs from dropping his full weight on them but he recovered quickly. He was just reaching into his pocket for the map when two guards rounded the corner and spotted him. John wasn't sure if they had heard him fall or if he was just unlucky but either way, they were advancing quickly.

He took a step back to retreat and bumped directly into someone. He was surrounded and they all looked ready to kill him in a second. Without hesitation, he brought his arm back and socked one of them in the jaw, trying to open up a path. Within seconds, large, strong hands were on him, holding him down. He struggled against their grasp to no avail.

"Bring him." The man John managed to hit said to the other two while massaging his jaw. The tall, sandy haired man turned and John was dragged after him. He hung his head in defeat and wondered what fate awaited him.

XXXX

Back in London, Sherlock Holmes had grown cold. He had always been rude and standoffish but now he had becoming intolerable. Greg, who had basically grown up with him was probably to the only one who could spot the difference. He knew the cause as well and since John was off having adventure's, there was really no way to fix Sherlock's rotten mood. So instead Greg brought him cases to distract him.

"Have you heard from him?" Greg asked Sherlock after they had just finished solving a brutal triple homicide. He didn't say anything more, they both knew whom he was referring to.

Reflexively, Sherlock reached up and clutched the dogtags that were around his neck, hidden under his button down shirt. Greg saw this but didn't comment. Sherlock had been wearing John's tags since the moment he'd discovered them on his pillow. He'd had the chip deactivated so he wouldn't be mistaken for a pet or run into any trouble. He liked the feel of them, the weight and the cold chain around his neck. He liked to look down sometimes and see John's name engraved there.

"No." Sherlock replied his face unreadable. "Have you?"

"Not for a while." Greg admitted. "The last time he called was about three weeks ago. I'm getting kind of worried."

"Did he call you regularly?" Sherlock inquired, trying to keep the interest out of his voice but Greg could hear it.

"No, just when he could."

"Then there's no reason for concern. He's probably busy trying to find his sister." Sherlock said waving it off but Greg could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, looking for an answer to some unknown question.

"He told you about Harry?" Greg asked in surprise.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, his eyes suddenly much sadder than Greg had ever seen them. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh no reason, just the last time John and I talked about it he was…hesitant about discussing it with you." Greg shrugged.

"No, he told me." Sherlock said quietly, his mind obviously somewhere else.

"It was good of you to release him, I know John appreciates it." Greg gave him a friendly clap on the back in gratitude.

Sherlock's eyes flickered with something Greg couldn't place, it wasn't something he'd ever seen on the man's face before. He'd never seen Sherlock this expressive and it was obvious that he was in pain. A lot of owner's took the final separation from their pets hard. Greg had solved enough murders where owner's ended up killing their pets because they couldn't take them being free, usually because the pets abandoned their owners the moment they were released. He'd often worried Sherlock might react in that way when he finally let John go.

At least Greg didn't have to worry about anything like that with Mycroft. They'd been rather detached from each other for their last final years together. Mycroft had already been knee-deep in all his Government business and so when Greg asked to be released, Mycroft had barely batted an eye. He'd even gotten Greg a job on the police force, for which Greg was thankful. He thought he'd end up being a dock worker or something much more physically strenuous. Instead he got to solve cases and live in relative comfort. It wasn't a bad lot in life, all things considered.

The most surprising bit had to be the fact that Mycroft still kept in touch. They'd go to dinner every once in a while, occasionally they'd shag if the mood struck them. Greg's flat was filled with lavish things that Mycroft had doted on him. He couldn't really complain, he had a large flatscreen TV and the comfiest sofa he'd ever been on thanks to his former owner. He knew Anthea, Mycroft's new pet wasn't not too thrilled about it but Greg wasn't about to tell Mycroft to stop.

"Is that all?" Sherlock asked in annoyance, obviously anxious to leave.

"Yeah, that's all." Greg sighed heavily as the man dashed away quickly. The whole thing with John's release didn't sit right with him. One moment Sherlock had been refusing the idea and the next he signed the papers. He didn't even make John agree to certain terms like seeing each other on a fairly regular basis. He'd known some owners that had put stipulations like that into the release contract. He was certain Mycroft had considered it when drawing up Greg's but since his schedule was so hectic, such a thing was unrealistic.

Still, there was something strange about John finally getting his freedom. Both men were actively not talking about it and that fact made Greg worry. Something must have happened between the two of them to make Sherlock change his mind so abruptly but Greg didn't want to think about it. When he'd asked John about how he'd finally managed to get free, John had mumbled something and quickly changed the subject. Greg wasn't sure he should inquire any further.

He wished John would call soon, not just because he missed his friend, but because the silence was making Greg fret. He might mention how hard Sherlock was taking the estrangement: see if he could get John to come home for a visit. But there had been nothing and Greg couldn't do anything but wait and watch Sherlock grow steadily worse.

XXXX

Two large double doors opened and John was thrown roughly into the room beyond them. There was a small, thin man with dark hair and sullen eyes sitting behind a desk in what John could only describe as a throne. The man has his feet up on the desk, his hands folded against his stomach and was watching John intently. John was forced into handcuffs and onto his knees by the two men, while the blond haired one went and stood by the desk. He leaned in and whispered something to the man, who John assumed was the elusive Moriarty. Moriarty nodded and grinned while the other man spoke and then dropped his feet, leaning forward on the desk.

"Well you must be the stupidest person I've ever met." The dark haired man said with an Irish lilt to his speech. John didn't bother to reply. "I've had a fair few people try to break out of here, you're the first that's ever tried to break in."

"We think Anderson must have helped him."

"Ah yes, Anderson. Such a pest. Really Moran, I thought you would have found and dealt with him by now." Moriarty said to the man standing next to him.

"We've been trying Jim, he's being smart about it. As soon as we find him, he'll be taken care of." Moran answered, his back straight.

"See that you do." Jim shot him a look of disapproval then turned his attention to John, his face softening slightly. "Now, what can I do for you?"

John kept his mouth shut but his eyes never left Moriarty. If he was going to die, he wanted the man to know that John wasn't afraid of him. The thug on John's right raised his hand and hit John with an audible smack. John's mouth filled with blood, which he spit onto the floor. Jim's lip upturned into a snarl. "That rug is very expensive, you'd do well to be careful about where you put your blood." Jim warned menacingly.

"Should I take him somewhere else and beat some sense into him?" Moran asked looking like he enjoyed the idea of it a bit too much.

"No." Jim raised a hand to hold the man in place. "Tell me why you're here."

Again, John was silent and received another blow, this time to the stomach. He doubled over, resting on his chained together hands while he coughed. Moran walked over and wrenched John's head back by the hair. A small knife appeared from seemingly nowhere and was held against his throat.

"I'm growing tired of your antics boy. Better speak up or Seb will have no choice but to spill your blood all over my nice rug. At least I can get a new one."

"I'm here for my sister." John said, his eyes fixated on the knife at his throat, realizing that Moriarty was not bluffing.

"And you think she's here?"

"I know she is."

"Name?"

"Harriet Watson."

"Ah, lovely, lovely Harry." Jim said with a smile that made John shudder. "Moran, go get Harry."

Moran nodded and left the room. John instantly felt better without a blade pressing into his skin. He reached up and rubbed where the knife had been. "You know who I am, you know what I do I presume?" Moriarty asked.

"I've been informed, yes." John nodded.

"And you thought it would be a good idea to break into my home and try and rescue your sister?"

"I had to try."

"How noble of you." Jim smirked, mocking him. "You probably thought you would succeed too, didn't you?"

"I was trying to stay positive." John shrugged, not engaging in Moriarty's obvious attempts to rile him up.

Their conversation was cut short by Moran returning with Harry. Her blond hair was long and she looked wrecked but underneath all that, John saw traces of his sister. Moran held her with one hand tightly but she made no attempts to escape. "Johnny? What are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes widening in shock.

"He's here to rescue you!" Moriarty chuckled with amusement.

"You shouldn't have come." Harry said quietly, her eyes not quite meeting John's.

"I made a promise." John said simply, knowing Harry would remember those nights together at the pound, clutching each other through the bars on their cages. "I'll never let anything bad happen to you." A nine year old John had sworn to his sister who cried every night. "I promise I'll always keep you safe."

"Johnny." Harry said barely above a whisper, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh this is so touching. I think my heart just burst with the love in this room." Moriarty said putting his hand over his heart dramatically.

"Let her go." John said, his eyes never leaving his sister.

"Why should I do what you ask? What incentive do I have to release her?" Jim challenged.

"You have plenty of pets and even more staff. You don't need her." John reasoned.

"Oh but I like you sister. She's a laugh! Have you heard about her love of the bottle? Honestly it's a hoot. Sometimes we just put her in a room with a camera and a bottle of vodka and watch her go to town. It's quite entertaining."

John's hands curled into fists and he wondered how close he could get to punching Moriarty without someone pulling him back. He decided the odds weren't very good so he clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"Well Johnny, I'm waiting." Jim said in a sing-song way.

John took one last look at his sister and her haggard appearance. She wouldn't be able to withstand much more of the treatment she received here.

"Me." John offered, meeting Jim's intense gaze.

"Johnny no!" Harry gasped, trying to get free of Moran's grip.

"Oh." Moriarty said, his eyes widening, blazing with interest. He slipped from his chair looking like some kind of deadly snake and stalked over. "You're offering to take her place? Exchange her freedom for your own?"

"Yes." John nodded.

"Hmm." Jim said circling John like a vulture. "Strip."

"Excuse me?" John asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Strip." Jim repeated. "Take off your clothes."

"I'm not yours yet, you don't get to tell me what to do." John said being obstinate.

"Ooh." Jim said leaning down so his face was level with John's. "You're feisty, I like that."

Jim's backhanded John across the cheek. John raised his chained hands of lightly touch where it stung.

"Listen up Johnny boy, if I'm going to agree to this deal, I have to know what I'm getting myself in to. So you can either strip for me now or I'll have Sebastian break your sister's pretty little neck in one swift movement. Got it?"

John swallowed hard and got to his feet. "Uncuff him." Jim ordered and one of the goon's produced to key to John's cuff's and unlocked them. "You'll behave, won't you Johnny boy?"

John stood up straight and began undressing himself, slipping his shirt over his head. Jim licked his lips as he watched, obviously enjoying the show. He began circling again and stopped to look at John's back. "Oh, you've been someone's pet before." Jim said tracing the scars from Sherlock's riding crop. "You just get more interesting by the second John."

He ignored Moriarty and began unzipping his trousers, tugging them down. Jim stepped around to face him, closer than was comfortable so they were breathing each other's air. Jim fingered the waistband of John's underwear and then slipped them down to join his trousers pooling at his ankles.

Moriarty took John's flaccid penis in his hand, holding it and examining closely. "It's workable." Jim shrugged tracing his thumb over the head. John flinched from the touch but didn't move. Jim went around to inspect the back. His hand grazed over John's bottom. "Hmm, now this is much more impressive." He gave it a little squeeze. "I'm going to have fun with this magnificent arse."

He slipped a finger into John's hole and he squirmed in response to the probing digit. Moriarty worked his finger in and out slowly. "You're tight but not virgin tight." He moved closer so his lips were almost brushing against John's ear. "Someone's had a taste of you, haven't they?"

John didn't answer but he couldn't keep his eyes from shutting tightly. He bit his tongue to keep from making even the slightest noise as Moriarty continued to work him with his finger. He felt a tongue on the crook of his neck, quickly licking once and then disappearing, as if Jim was tasting him.

The finger finally left John's bum and he breathed a sigh of relief. "I accept." Jim said and John's eyes snapped open. He looked at Harry, who was staring back at him, mortified. John bent down and pulled up his underwear and trousers, leaving his shirt on the floor.

"Bring Harry to my room, I'll be there momentarily." Jim said dismissing them.

"Wait, you said you'd let her go." John yelled accusingly.

"And I will, just as soon as I'm done saying goodbye." Jim answered, grinning mischievously.

"John!" Harry cried out as Moran led her away. John took the opportunity of his lack of restraints and hurled himself after her. He quickly wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Holmes." He whispered into her ear. "Find Holmes."

It was all he got out before they were wrenched apart, Moran tugging her down the corridor and the two other thugs grabbing John to hold him back. He could still hear Harry calling for him long after she had disappeared from sight.


	5. Chapter 5

Same Warnings as always: Non-con, abuse, etc.

John was shoved into a room later that night with the doors being locked behind him. He tried for several minutes to break it down, bracing his shoulder against it, but with no luck. The wood was too thick for his small frame to possibly break it, so he abandoned it to look around the room. There seemed to be no other possible escapes routes. There was only the one door and the only windows were on the thirty foot high ceiling.

The room was surprisingly empty for being so large. It was covered in a thick, shag carpet with only a sofa, bed and dresser as furniture. The sofa was soft Italian black leather that looked very expensive. The bed had a dark red duvet and black satin sheets. The bed itself felt deep, firm and very large. John felt uneasy just looking at it, knowing what depraved acts were going to be preformed on that bed. The most disturbing thing however was when he went through the dresser drawers.

In the top one he found an array of condoms, one's with ribbing, ones that were supposed to be so thin you didn't even know they were there and other ones that had flavors. He was surprised that Moriarty would be so considerate but he assumes they were for his own benefit. With so many sexual partners, Moriarty would be worried about contracting a disease of some sort. He shuddered to think that he'd be added to the list of people Moriarty has claimed.

The next drawer had an equally diverse amount of lubricants. Ones meant to make you tingle, different flavors, different kinds. It was like the man bought out a sex shop. This theory was proven further by the next drawer down, which contained a dizzying amount of sex toys. There was butt plugs, dildos, beads, whips, gags and John felt perturbed when he saw a riding crop among the other toys. He started to be concerned about how many of these Moriarty was planning on using on him. He shut the drawer and tried not to think about it. Instead he needed to come up with a plan.

He didn't get much time to think of one. The double doors opened and Moriarty's thin frame entered. They closed and were locked behind them and Moriarty licked his lips, his eyes drinking John in. John stood perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, trying his best to keep his face blank.

"Hi." Jim said cheerfully, making his way over. John baulked at him for a moment, thoroughly confounded by his new owner. "You're sister's papers have been all taken care of and she's been released into the wild."

John swallowed hard and tried not to look too relieved. He could only hope Harry would understand his message and find Sherlock. He hadn't had time to tell her much but he hoped she'd get the idea. Then again he hadn't seen his sister in thirteen years so he had no idea what to expect from her.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" Jim asked, standing very close to John, their noses practically touching.

"Thank you." John droned out.

"Why are you wearing clothes?" Moriarty frowned, looking up and down John's body. John made no effort to move and Moriarty sighed in exasperation. "Honestly, do I have to do everything myself?"

Jim's nails scratched John as he tore off his shirt and discarded it onto the floor. He ran his nails down John's chest, red lines appearing instantly. "Will you get hard for me Johnny?" Jim inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I doubt it." John sneered in disgust.

"Hmm." Was all Moriarty said in response, divesting himself of his dressing gown to show the pale, thin man underneath. "You know there's really no need for you to enjoy this. Some people like it rough, can't help getting off on it, even if they're not attracted to me. It really makes no difference to me; you're all just tight, wet holes as far as I'm concerned. But since it's our first time together, I thought I'd ask."

Jim reached up and grabbed John's face, his fingers pressing into the sides of John's cheeks, squeezing them together to force his mouth open. Jim roughly shoved his tongue into John's mouth and made a loud, over the top moan as his tongue explored. "I think I'm going to stick my cock in there one of these times." Moriarty said, his voice husky. John did his best not to react in the slightest. "You won't bite it, will you Johnny?"

John remained silent and Jim just shrugged, his cold hands moving down to start undoing John's zip. "I do enjoy this bit. Taking someone for the first time. Everybody's different and you can never tell how someone's going to react. I get bored of people easily, which why I'm always excited about someone new. Feel."

Moriarty grabbed John's hand and pressed it to his erection. He was throbbing and swollen as he pressed into John's palm, precome leaking out of it. "See how hungry I am for it John?" John flinched and tried to pull his hand away but Moriarty had a firm grasp on his wrist, holding him. Jim leaned in so his breath was on John's ear. "I'm practically salivating at the thought. Oh Johnny, you've got me dizzy like a schoolgirl. I've been thinking about your tight little hole ever since I stuck my finger in it. I was thinking about it while I fucked your sister for the last time. Such a shame I couldn't give her my full attention but then, you're so diverting."

Why was Moriarty telling him all this? Was John supposed to be flattered? Then again it seemed like Moriarty enjoyed the sound of his own voice almost as much as he enjoyed making people uncomfortable. Moriarty tugged down John's trousers, taking his underwear with it and shoved him onto the bed. He pulled off the remainder of John's clothes and joined him on the bed. "Now, how do I want you?" Moriarty asked, kneeling over John, contemplating it. "On your hands and knees I think, for this time. I want to watch myself disappear inside that amazing arse of yours. Yes, definitely. "

Moriarty slithered off the bed and went over to the dresser. He opened the top drawer and rummaged around it for a moment before finding what he wanted. He put the condom packet into his mouth while his hands searched the second drawer. Satisfied, he brought both items over to the bed and John couldn't help being grateful that Moriarty hadn't gone into the third drawer.

"Now darling, I trust you understand me when I say that you're mine now and that if you cause me problems, I will hurt you. So you can really deal with this any way you want to, I don't really care. But I will be inside you for as long as it takes me to reach orgasm and if you interrupt that in any way, life will become very difficult for you."

Jim rejoined him on the bed, dropping the lubricant and the condom so he could run his hands up John's thighs. John shivered in revulsion and turned his head away. Moriarty grabbed his face and forced John to look at him. "I believe I told you to get on your hands and knees." Moriarty said with his jaw clenched.

John narrowed his eyes but rolled over onto his stomach. He pushed himself up and shut his eyes tight. The sooner this was over the better. He reminded himself he had done this to save his sister. The mere idea of her being in the same situation made him physically ill. He swallowed down the bile threatening to rise, burning his throat.

Moriarty ran his hands along John's back, tracing the scars. "You're a good little doggy, aren't you?" Moriarty cooed. "You take your abuse and you don't complain. I like that. I'm going to abuse that hole of yours until you can't even remember what it felt like to walk straight."

John sucked his lips in between his teeth and bit down to keep from saying anything. He heard the condom packet being ripped open, the crack of the lubricant being opened and prepared himself for the worst. Moriarty slid into him with no preparation and John almost screamed from the uncomfortable burning sensation. He was painfully full with Moriarty buried to the hilt, and Moriarty gave him no time to adjust before he started moving. The lubricant helped ease the stinging somewhat as Moriarty rocked back and forth.

Jim had picked one of the thin condoms so it felt like there was no barrier at all between his cock and John's insides. Moriarty bent over him so he could talk incessantly into John's ear as he shoved himself in over and over again. "Just in case you were making any dirty little plans, the vent has been sealed up tight. No chance of you escaping the way you came in."

John didn't answer; there was no need. At least he wouldn't make the mistake of trying it now, he'd only get caught. The map Anderson had made him had been taken from him so all he knew about Moriarty's place was what he had committed to memory. Other than that he was mostly blind in this situation with no idea how to get out.

"You're a perfect little whore Johnny boy. God I want to be inside you for hours." Moriarty said, slowing down his pace until it was maddeningly slow. "I won't though. Things to do and all that."

Jim picked up the pace, slamming relentlessly into John, their skin slapping against each other. He started licking and biting at John's back, his teeth scrapping against his skin with each thrust. "So delicious." Moriarty hummed against his flesh.

He got off John's back and gripped his shoulders, pushing him back against him. "Oh God Johnny you should see how good you look, swallowing my cock up into your tight little body. I had planned to draw this out longer but you're just so tight and hot. Naughty little thing, I can't even control myself."

John could feel Moriarty was close, even without his never-ending chatter. He waited until Moriarty was coming, shrieking like a banshee, when John brought his elbow back and cracked Moriarty in the face. Jim stumbled back, pulling out of him. He looked baffled and slightly out of it, so John made a break for the door. He didn't really know what he was planning to do but he'd just reached the handle when Moriarty shouted for Moran.

Moriarty's second in command came bursting into the room and instantly had his hand around John's throat. He lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the wall, chocking him with his large hands. John struggled against it, kicking and trying to pry the hand away from his neck.

Moriarty recovered, pulled his dressing gown on angrily and stomped over. "I warned you." Jim spat at him. "I fucking warned you Johnny. Lower him."

Moran did as Jim requested, putting John down so his feet could touch the floor but didn't remove his hand. Jim leaned forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "You're going to pay for that dear, mark my words. Then again I would have been a bit disappointed if you hadn't struggled at least a little bit. I knew you were making it too easy for me. You're not that compliant, although I had hopes."

"What do you want me to do with him?" Moran asked, tightening his grip on John's throat just enough to make it uncomfortable. John was wheezing slightly, unable to get a deep breath of air.

"What should I do with you Johnny?" Moriarty asked, running his fingers through John's hair. John scowled in response.

"Kill me." John suggested. He wasn't sure if he could stand much more of this.

"Kill you?" Jim asked, looking appalled at the idea. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and made a face. "Don't be obvious. No, no, no, see darling, you're a shiny new toy. I'd rather break you than throw you away. No, I think this deserves something special."

Jim went over to the far wall to a box of switches. He flicked one and the ceiling opened up, two long ropes came fluttering down. "Tie him up." Jim ordered and Sebastian carried John over, binding his hands in the ropes. Jim flicked another switch and the ropes were slowly raised until John's toes were just barely grazing the carpet, his hands bound over his head. He had no choice but the hang there like a dead weight.

"I can tell by your back that you've had a riding crop before and although I do like mine, I bet it's a bit old hat for you by now." Jim said as he made his way over to the dresser, bending down to open the third drawer. "Ah, but the whip." Jim pulled out a long, thin bullwhip and presented it to John. "Never had one of these before, have you?"

John's eyes widened a fraction in shock before he closed them tightly. Sherlock had never used a whip on him but it couldn't be much different from the riding crop, could it? His wrists were starting to burn from where the rope was digging into his skin. He tried to shift to make it less uncomfortable but it only made the ropes dig in further.

"Don't struggle." Moriarty whispered into his ear. "I'm going to make you bleed a lovely shade of red."

"Piss off." John couldn't help shooting back.

"Ah, there's my defiant little doggy." Moriarty squealed with delight, moving backwards and cracking the whip against John's back. John bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. He could feel the stinging welt on his back, more thin and localized pain than he was used to.

"I knew I could draw that out of you. You're not just the submissive little whore who takes my cock easily into your body. There's so much more to you Johnny and I'm fascinated. It takes a lot to get me interested and you have me riveted."

Another crack of the whip, this time it went right across his arsecheeks. John concentrated on breathing and thought about all the reasons he was doing this. He had kept his promise and saved his sister. That was all that mattered. She wouldn't have been able to endure this but he could. He would be strong for her. She was free and he could only hope that she'd find Sherlock. That John would soon be rescued himself, until then he wouldn't give Moriarty the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

XXXX

John was blindfolded when he was dragged to wherever the pets were kept. He assumed Moriarty didn't want him to get a better grasp of the layout than he already had. He could tell he was being taken downstairs; he could feel their bodies descending in what he assumed was a lift. He heard the ding as the doors opened and he was shoved through them. He hissed in pain as one of the guards shoved him right on his fresh wound.

Moriarty had gotten increasingly frustrated at his failure to elicit a reaction out of John. It only made him shriek louder and crack the whip harder. As far as plans went, it really wasn't John's best but he liked that he could make Moriarty flustered. That he could get under the psychopath's skin and rile him up. He imagined it wasn't a feat easily achieved but he was certainly feeling the costs of such a thing. Still, he'd rather have his own satisfaction than Moriarty's and so he'd kept quiet even when his skin was on fire and he could feel the blood dripping down his back.

His blindfold was removed and he was walked through what looked a lot like the pound Harry and he were in as kids. There were cages along the cement floor with people crouched or laying inside them, looking worn out. He was brought to an empty one at the back and pushed through, the door chained shut behind him.

John looked around for a moment and scooted closer to the woman in the cage next to him. "Excuse, but do you know someone named Sally?"

"Yeah, that's me." The girl replied, looking at him with mild interest.

"Uh, someone named Anderson told me to tell you he's sorry." John informed her, repeating what Anderson had said before leaving the bar where they'd met.

"He can go to hell." Sally snapped back, turning away.

"What did he do?"

"The bastard left me here to rot."

"Oh." John vaguely recalled Anderson's story of how he had escaped and how his partner had been taken. He really didn't know what to say so he lied down on his stomach to keep pressure off his back. Everything hurt, his new cuts bleeding into his clothes. He'd been quickly looked at by what he assumed was a physician although he couldn't be sure. He'd hardly gotten any bandages at all and he'd been denied any kind of painkiller. Then again he supposed that was rather the point of Moriarty hurting him.

"So how did you end up here?" Sally asked after a few moments of silence.

"Did you know Harry?"

"Yeah." Sally nodded.

"She was my sister."

"Is she alright? When she didn't come down I figured she'd been killed."

"No, she's safe. I traded her freedom for mine."

"Why would you do that?" Sally asked, her mouth gaping open.

"Because I could see what this place was doing to her. I needed to get her out."

"Do you have an idea what you've signed yourself up for?"

"Yes, I just came back from it actually." John answered, lifting up his shirt so she could see the welts on his back.

"Jesus, what did you do? You must have really pissed him off."

"I hit him and tried to escape."

Sally laughed and then covered her mouth when the guards looked over. "You must be insane." She whispered softly.

"Well I had to try." John shrugged. "So what do we do when we're not being sexually abused? Are we kept in these cages all the time?"

"Sometimes."

"And the other times?"

"We're put to work. Manual labor kinds of things."

"Oh." John nodded. He had sort of been expecting that. He looked around his cage. There was a single pillow and a thin blanket for sleeping. In the corner he noticed a chain with a shackle. "What's this for?"

"People who misbehave. You piss of Moriarty; you sleep with your foot bolted to the floor. You don't, you sleep in relative comfort."

"Right."

"You better get some sleep. It's only going to get harder from here, trust me." Sally warned him and he knew enough now to heed it. He opened the blanket and laid it over him. It was hardly enough but then again he wasn't meant to be comfortable. He slipped his hand discreetly down the blanket until he could reach his shoe. Under the sole, he'd hidden Sherlock's letter. He slowly unfolded it, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want the guards to hear it and try to take it away from him. He kept his back turned and faced the wall so everyone would think he was asleep.

The light in the room was dim and his eyes strained to read the letter. Still, he had read it so many times that he essentially had it memorized. Looking at Sherlock's flowery script was always a comfort and reminded him of home. With each word he felt his body relax and the pain subside while each and every bit of his mind filled with only one thing, Sherlock.

XXXX

Harriet Watson pounded on the door of a place she had once called home. She called out to Clara over and over until she was hoarse. Finally, her former owner answered the door. "Harry?" Clara asked in disbelief.

"Hello." Harry smiled at her old friend, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course." Clara stepped back and allowed Harry to enter. "How on Earth did you escape?"

"I didn't." Harry answered honestly.

"Then how are you here?"

"My brother, John. He saved me."

"Oh that's wonderful!" Clara exclaimed, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Harry murmured into Clara's soft, golden hair. "But I'm afraid I need your help."

"Yes, anything."

"Do you have a phone book?"

"What for?"

"Holmes." Harry said, recalling the final words her brother had told her in haste. "I need to find someone named Holmes."

XXXX

_My Dearest John,_

_ Even as I sit down to write this, I still have no idea what I could possibly say to you. I don't know how to fix this or make it better. I don't suppose I can. I am completely and utterly disgusted with my actions towards you. I wish I had some sort of excuse for my behaviour but I'm afraid there isn't one. Not that an excuse would make what I did better, there is no way to justify it. I hurt you, plain and simple, in a way that I did not know I was able._

_ Obviously I am capable of hurting you, you have marks on your back to prove it. But hurting you before was always done out of necessity and you knew how much it pained me to do so. This was not the case this time and I am sick with the thought that I hurt you in such a manner that our relationship is now soiled forever. _

_ You were the only thing that was ever mine John, truly and completely. I'm afraid I took advantage of that. You have no idea, or maybe you do - I'm not sure, we've never talked about it - how hard it's been for me. To be in such close proximity to you and to not be able to have you has been nothing short of a torment. I've struggled with how deeply I feel for you for quite some time now, how great my need is for you._

_ I'm terrified John, of you, of my feelings for you. Sometimes it's like a physical ache in my chest that threatens to overtake me. In the end it's what caused me to hold on to you too tightly when all you wanted was to get away from me. I was so scared of letting you go because I believed your caring for me was only that of a pet to its master. I did not, nor do I now believe that anyone could love me on my own merits. I know I'm difficult to be around even in my best moods. I thought the moment you were able to; you'd leave me, just as you tried to all those many years ago. I've been clutching you to me tightly ever since that day, horrified at the prospect of my life without you. _

_ I tell you all this now so that you might understand just what I'm giving up by signing these papers for your freedom. I'm giving up you John and our life together. I trust you know just how much I don't wish to. You are the best of me John, the only person I've ever felt anything for and I never expected to feel it so strongly. But I see now that you're not safe with me John, maybe you never were. If I am capable of this once, who knows what I might do in the future. No, I'm dangerous for you to be around, I realize that now. _

_ Even after what I've done to you, I can still feel that ache in my chest, my want of you is astounding and has not diminished. I fear I might act in the same way again. I want and need you all the time, every second and it won't go away. It refuses to no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I try to convince myself that you cannot be mine in that way. _

_ So the logical conclusion is to send you away, let you be free so that I am unable to harm you again. I do this knowing the pain it will cause me to send you away, but grateful that you will not be a victim to me again. I've seen what kind of monster I am John, I saw it reflected in your tear soaked eyes from which you stared at me in horror. I cannot stand to have you look at like that ever again and I cannot bear to think that I might lose myself again. _

_ Please believe me when I tell you that I am so profoundly sorry for my actions. I would tell you in person but I doubt you would want to see me, as evident by your locked door. Besides, I'm don't think I would have the stomach to tell you any of this in person. The moment I'd see you I'd be desperate to keep you, to have you remain mine. We both know how selfish I can be. _

_ I stupidly hope that one day you might be able to forgive me. I know I don't deserve it but if such a day does come that you can bear to face me, you will always be welcome here. 221B is our home and will remain that way until the day we die. I will be here, waiting, hoping, praying and always loving you, My John. Until we meet again, I remain, entirely and unreservedly yours,_

_ Sherlock Holmes._

_P.S. I hope you won't mind that I picked the lock in your room to leave the papers where I knew you'd find them. Also, because this was my last chance to see you, I couldn't help it. I promise you I didn't do anything inappropriate although that is probably not much of a comfort right now. I will not return to the flat until I am sure you are gone from it for good, I believe it's better that way. I wish you luck in finding your sister and have provided some things that I hope will ease your burden. Thank you for being my friend and I am truly sorry it came to this. You deserved so much more. Goodbye John. Be safe. _

John finished the letter and read it through one final time before folding it back up and slipping it back into his shoe. The room was freezing and he hugged his blanket tighter around himself. He closed his eyes and promised himself that he would survive this if only so he could see Sherlock again and convince him that nothing had been broken that couldn't be fixed. And when he finally drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of Baker Street and the man who made it feel like home.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry this took me so long to update, I got a bit overtaken by a different fic. I promise you won't have to wait so long between chapters anymore.

Same warnings as always: Non-con, abuse, substance abuse, just general unpleasantness.

* * *

><p>In his first week, John was in to see Moriarty five nights in a row. It didn't take long for him to realize that this was not normal. The other pets looked at him strangely, mostly with pity. Hardly any of them talked to him, even when they had occasion to, the only one who did was Sally.<p>

"So five nights in a week is kind of a lot, isn't it?" John asked quietly while he and Sally stood next to each other, folding sheets in the laundry room.

"It's unusual but not unheard of, especially for a new pet. Moriarty likes things that are new. Usually he gets bored of you after the third night though, five is definitely strange for him. He must like you."

John grimaced and tried not to think about the implications of what that meant. He didn't want Moriarty to like him, to be Moriarty's favorite pet. He just wanted to survive it long enough for someone to come help him. He'd have to do something to make Moriarty uninterested.

John had a vague plan when he was taken to Moriarty's room that night. He would just have to make the sex bad enough that Moriarty would decide it wasn't worth it. Although he was usually expected to just lie there and take it, so he had no idea how one made that bad. He'd just have to improvise, find a way to keep Moriarty from getting off.

When he was deposited in Moriarty's room like usual, John took off his clothes, putting them in a pile on the sofa and knelt in the middle of the floor, head bowed, waiting for Jim to show up. He kept his hands clasped behind his back while he waited, thinking that if he took the submissive position right away, Moriarty might not be paying too much attention.

Jim entered the room and stopped dead in his tracks. "My, my, what's this?" Moriarty asked, walking over and circling around John. He ran his fingers through John's hair and then put a finger under John's chin to lift his face up. "Who told you to kneel like this?"

"Nobody." John answered, keep his eyes down.

"You thought of this all on your own, did you?" Moriarty asked with a smirk.

"Yes Master." John replied.

"Well, since you're already down there." Moriarty undid his trousers; pushing them down one-handed and then brought John's face closer. John took him into his mouth willingly. This was better than he had dared hope. He would give Jim the worst blowjob and make the man lose interest.

He started off working Jim with almost no pressure, keeping his mouth slack so there was hardly any friction at all. Jim growled in frustration and grabbed John by the back of the head, yanking him off his cock. "You can do better than that." Jim snarled and shoved John's face back

John took him in again, licking at the head. Jim moaned approvingly and let go of John's hair. John took him in deeper, scraping his teeth along Jim's length. Jim hissed and pulled John off again, scowling down at him. "Moran!" Jim hollered and John looked around in terror, wondering what Moriarty was going to do. He only prayed that Moriarty wasn't going to make John practice on Moran.

Moran stepped in, dragging Sally along with him. John frowned in confusion and looked from Moriarty to Moran. Jim grinned wickedly down at him, eyes glinting with mischief. John felt his heart race as he wondered what was going to happen. "Now then pet, you're going to do a proper job of sucking me off, or Moran is going to hit poor Sally every time you do something I don't like."

John stared at Jim in horror and his eyes went to Sally, who had her head down, eyes fixated on the floor. Moriarty gave Moran a nod and Moran delivered a blow right to Sally's head. She crashed down to her knees with a cry of pain. John winced and looked back at Jim. Moriarty ran his fingers through John's hair and then gripped at the back of his head, shoving him forward. "Better make it good." Jim warned.

Reluctantly, John brought his mouth forward and started to work Moriarty again. He thought about what Sherlock had liked when he'd done this for him but that was a mistake. Having to do to Moriarty what he had done to Sherlock was making him feel ill. It had been so different before, watching Sherlock writhe underneath him, gasping John's name as John brought him so much pleasure. John had been happy to do it, getting immense pleasure from it himself. And now he had to do the same to Moriarty and the thought made him want to retch.

He had waited too long and Moriarty gave another nod, another blow was administered, this time Moran socked Sally right in the jaw. John steeled himself and concentrated, shutting his eyes tight and thinking about nothing but getting Moriarty off quickly so no more harm would come to Sally.

He worked down the shaft slowly, his tongue massaging the underside. Then he pulled back and paid attention to the head, tongue moving against the glans. He must have been on the right track because Moriarty's breath was becoming labored. John brought his hand up to the base and began stroking while he continued sucking at the head. Moriarty groaned and gripped John's hair tighter, shoving himself deeper into John's mouth.

"Oh, I knew you'd be good at this." Moriarty moaned, pushing himself further into John's mouth so John could feel him at the back of his throat. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

John didn't say anything; just kept his eyes closed and kept sucking Jim as best he could. He wasn't putting much into it; he couldn't when something that was supposed to be pleasurable was reduced to a vile act. John wasn't giving Moriarty enough to get off even though he was trying and Moriarty was growing bored and frustrated.

"Seb darling, get out your gun."

John's eyes snapped open and he watched and Moran pulled a sig from his back. He aimed it at the back of Sally's head, a kill shot. John's stared up at Jim in disbelief.

Jim stared back at him, trailing a finger against John's cheek and making him shiver. "Act like you like it." Moriarty instructed. "Act like it's the best cock you've ever had in your mouth or pretty little Sally gets her brains splattered."

John swallowed out of nervousness, making Jim's eyes flutter closed from the sensation. He wasn't sure if he could even do this, he wasn't much of an actor and he wasn't sure he could pretend to enjoy it. Still, knowing that if he fucked up, Sally would be not only hurt but killed, he knew he had to. He couldn't have her blood on his hands and he knew Moriarty and Moran would have no problems killing her over something as stupid as this.

So John faked his way through it, putting his hands on Moriarty's hips and taking his prick deep. John kept his eyes on Jim the entire time, staring at his forehead so he wouldn't have to look him in the eyes. It seemed to be working and every once in awhile John would moan around Jim's cock, making sure not to over-exaggerate.

Jim seemed satisfied with him, tilting his head back up towards the ceiling and moaning loudly. He started snapping his hips, fucking John's mouth roughly. John tried to relax his throat and take it, doing his best not to choke. Jim grabbed a hold of either side of John's face and held him as he fucked him. John continued letting out noises of pleasure as if this was the greatest thing he'd ever experienced.

John wanted to finish him off quickly, so he raised his hand and started rolling Jim's balls against his palm. "Ah!" Jim cried out and then John's mouth was filled with Moriarty's release. He desperately wanted to spit the bitterness out but Moriarty pulled out and ordered him to swallow. John complied and looked down at the floor, feeling sick.

"Moran, you and Sally can leave, in fact take John here with you. I've got things to do." Jim ordered and then crouched down in front of John and whispered directly into his ear. "Till tomorrow Johnny."

John narrowed his eyes and wanted nothing more than to hit the man who had him captive. But John was not stupid and knew that any damage down to Moriarty would be inflicted on him ten-fold. So John simply gritted his teeth and wished he could have something other than the taste of Moriarty in his mouth.

As he's lead back down to the basement, Moran keeping a firm gasp on John's upper arm, John couldn't help feeling despair that his plan failed. How had Moriarty had Sally there waiting? Was John really so predictable or was Moriarty simply that clever? John was feeling his chances of getting away from Moriarty seriously dwindling. But then it had only been a week; he couldn't give up hope yet.

After Moran shoved him in his cage, John lied out on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It took him a few minutes to realize someone's eyes were on him. He looked around and finally noticed Sally staring at him. "What?" he asked as loudly as he dared. The guards didn't like the pets talking much, probably thought they were planning a rebellion or something.

"God, your previous master must have been horrible." Sally replied looking at him with a slightly stunned expression.

"Why do you say that?" John asked, keeping his face towards the ceiling so maybe the guards wouldn't notice they were talking.

"I've never seen anybody handle this as well as you have. Most people cry their eyes out after their first time with Moriarty and you got it worse than most. He's had you almost every night and you've never cried, not once. The only thing I can think of is that you must be used to it. So was he awful, you're previous Master?"

John's eyes flickered over as Sally watched him expectantly. He didn't have to answer and yet this strange urge to defend Sherlock rose within him. "No." he responded. "He wasn't awful to me at all really. He was a bit possessive but he only beat me when he had to and he only truly hurt me once. I…I don't think he really meant to. He sort of loses control sometimes and he was a bit crazy when it happened, frightened that I was going to leave him."

"God, I can't believe you're actually making excuses for him." Sally said in disgust.

"I'm not." John insisted. "It's just I know him, we've been together since he was seven years old. He needs me, he depends on me. I know him probably better than anyone and he never meant to hurt me, not really. God, I can't forget his face when it was over. I think he was more appalled with himself than I was with him. It's hard to explain if you don't know him but he always used to ask, even if it was for something as simple as a kiss. He always asked and for a long time we lived off what we could get. I know we both wanted more and so in the end it wasn't so much the act itself but how it happened that was awful. I wanted him, I did, in that way, for so many years. Pretty much since I discovered what it was and how it happened I had been fantasizing about doing that with him but I never saw it happening like that. In the end it's how I got free. He let me go because he couldn't handle what he'd done."

"And then you ended up here." Sally filled in.

"Yes." John nodded.

"Do you miss him?"

"All the time. I worry about him, what he's doing without me. He has sort of a penchant for trouble. I just hope he doesn't do anything too stupid while I'm gone."

"You should probably start worrying about yourself." Sally pointed out.

"I know, I guess I just can't help it." John shrugged. He could only hope that Greg was keeping an eye on Sherlock like John had asked him to before leaving. Greg would see that Sherlock didn't do anything_ too_ bad, wouldn't he?

XXXX

Sherlock had lost track of time. He spent all of it in a fog, a blur, never coming down from his high. He was experimenting with different drug cocktails in an attempt to make himself forget. But then he couldn't exactly erase the last thirteen years of his life, could he? He'd settle for just getting rid of the last few months. He couldn't let himself think or feel or remember. He couldn't let himself picture John, broken and scared and crying, looking at Sherlock as if they didn't know each other at all. He couldn't picture John like that, the way Sherlock had made him. He couldn't relive that, couldn't see that face again. So he kept himself high, drowning himself in the euphoria and escape the drugs offered.

He had no idea how much time had passed. He'd stopped leaving the flat, stopped working and going to crime scenes. Greg had called him a few times but Sherlock had never answered. Instead he holed himself up in Baker street, constantly aware of the fact that John was no longer there. He couldn't let himself think about any of it, not even his most treasured memories. Those seemed to hurt just as much as the bad ones.

There were some heavy footsteps on the stairs but Sherlock simply turned on the sofa so his back was to the door and curled up into a ball. Lestrade let himself in and stood by the sofa. "Where the hell have you been, I've been calling you?" Greg asked accusingly.

"Goway." Sherlock mumbled, curling up inside himself even further.

"Sherlock, are you high?" Lestrade asked, gripping Sherlock by the shoulder and forcing him to turn over.

"I said go away." Sherlock repeated a bit clearer. He knew his eyes were bloodshot and that it was clear to anyone with knowledge that he was high. Greg noticed it instantly.

"Christ." Greg said, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"I'm fine Lestrade. Let yourself out." Sherlock pointedly turned his back.

Greg sighed loudly and before Sherlock knew what was happening, he had been thrown over Lestrade's shoulder and was being carried like a sack up the stairs. Greg dumped him in the bathtub and turned on the cold water. Sherlock shrieked and tried to get out from under the spray but Greg held him down until his clothes and hair were waterlogged.

When Sherlock seemed at least somewhat coherent, Greg switched off the taps and stood by the tub with his arms crossed, waiting. Sherlock simply scowled at him and looked like a drowned rat in his current state.

"Is this about John?" Greg asked, concern evident in his voice.

"No." Sherlock bit back a bit too quickly. "It's not about anything."

"Like hell." Lestrade said disbelievingly. "Still haven't heard anything from him?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head, not meeting Greg's stare. "He has no reason to contact me. He wouldn't want to anyway."

"Jesus, are you blind Sherlock?"

Sherlock gaped at the man.

"Look, I might not have the powers of observation you have but I can see what's plain in front of me. Don't forget Sherlock, I lived with you in that house for damn near my entire childhood. We grew up together and I saw how you two were together. He loved you, always did and it broke his heart every time you'd find some new obsession: murder, medicine, science, drugs and leave him in the dust. Always thought he wasn't enough for you. I don't know what happened between you two right before John left and maybe I don't want to know but something I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, is that John loved you. In fact the fool probably still does. So why don't you stop feeling sorry for yourself and just give him a call."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock said bitterly, rubbing his hand over his hair to shake out some of the water.

"Oh come off it. Swallow your pride and call the man." Greg urged him.

"John wanted nothing more than to get away from me. My pride has nothing to do with it. John has no reason to come back here and I'm certainly not going to lower myself to begging him to."

"But –"

"Leave it Lestrade." Sherlock said warningly, grabbing the side of the tub and hoisting himself up.

Greg sighed heavily and turned to go. "I'll call you if I get anything interesting, yeah?"

"It would be appreciated but only if the case is actually interesting. You and I seem to have very different meanings for the word."

"Fine. And lay off the drugs."

"Or you'll tell me brother?"

"No, or I'll smack you." Greg threatened before leaving the bathroom.

He waited until he was a few blocks away before he pulled out his phone and called John. It rang out and Greg heard John's familiar voicemail message. "Hey John, it's Greg. Look, I hate to interrupt the search but things aren't going so well here. It's…well it's Sherlock. He's in a bad way. If you get a chance could you give the man a call, write a letter, visit him, anything. I think he needs to hear from you. He's not doing so well since you left. Just think about it, ok? I hope you're doing all right and that you're being safe. Give me a call back when you can."

Greg hung up the phone, a strange churning in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't like John not to call or contact him. He knew John was busy with the search for Harry but he couldn't spare a few moments to pick up the phone? Greg had a bad feeling that something awful had happened to him. He also hoped that John would come home soon, for Sherlock's sake. The man was clearly going out of his mind. Greg couldn't help but worry about the both of them.

XXXX

As promised, John was taken to Moriarty the next night. As far as he could figure it, Moriarty usually had three sessions a day where a pet was chosen at random to service him. The night seemed to be the longest of these sessions and it was always then that John was brought to him. Some of the morning or afternoon sessions could go by as quickly as ten minutes; it was only the evening sessions that seemed to be dragged out.

John sat down on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths and trying to center himself. No matter how many times this happened, he didn't think he'd ever get used to it. He could only hope he'd never be there long enough to get accustomed to being raped. He didn't want to get to the point where this became normal.

Jim entered the room and smirked at John. A shiver of revulsion ran through John as Moriarty made his way over. He put his hands on John's shoulder and pushed him down onto the bed, crawling up and over him. There was a hunger in Moriarty's eyes that terrified John. He didn't want to be wanted in this way, not by a monster like this. "Kiss me." Jim commanded and brought his lips to John's.

John kept his lips a straight line and Moriarty snarled in frustration. "Don't make me have Seb get Sally again."

John swallowed and reluctantly kissed Jim back when their lips met again. Moriarty let out an appreciative hum and deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging deep enough to brush against John's tonsils. Jim broke away and kissed along John's jawline and then concentrated on his throat. John turned his face away and stared blankly at the wall, trying not to show just how much he hated having Moriarty touch him.

Jim rolled his hips and John felt his hardness against his hip. It took everything in him not to start gagging, knowing that it would be forced inside him soon. He inhaled sharply through his nose and tried to think about anything else but it was difficult with Moriarty on top of him, rutting against his leg. "This is quickly becoming my favorite part of the day." Moriarty murmured against John's neck. John had to bite back a retort as Jim slipped his hand under John's shirt and felt along his chest.

"You've held on admirably John but I keep waiting for you to break. To hear you cry out, either in pain or ecstasy. I don't even care which one but you're so frustratingly silent. It just makes me want to break you more. You can end all this, you'll get a spot in the regular rotation of course, but it won't be every night. Just make a little noise, for me."

John narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he thought of Moriarty's offer. Getting a break from all this might be welcome but he didn't want to give Moriarty the satisfaction of making him crumble, of getting to him. He was being an idiot, he knew, but he didn't want to be like all the rest of them. Apart from Sally, they all looked dead, like they had resigned themselves to their fate and had no fight left in them. John didn't want to become one of them.

"Strip." Moriarty ordered as he got off the bed and went over to the dresser. He pulled out a condom and lube, placed them on the bed and began stripping himself. He stared at John, who had remained unmoved. "Feeling obstinate today are we? If you don't do it yourself, I'll have two of my men come in here and do it and trust me, they won't be gentle."

Reluctantly, John pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Moriarty watched him carefully as John undid his trousers, lifted his hips up and pushed them down. After he had kicked them away, he rolled over and got on his hands and knees. Moriarty's hands were on his back in seconds. "Not this time pet." Moriarty said pushing John onto his back. They'd had sex in that position every time so John stared at his master in confusion.

"Put your hands over your head."

John knew resisting would get him nowhere, so he put his hands above his head and held them there. Jim reached under the pillow and pulled out a bit of rope. He wrapped it around John's wrists and then through the bars in the headboard, restraining John to the bed. John started to panic, hating the feeling of having nowhere to go, no way to defend himself. Not that he really had that anyway but it was nice to at least have the illusion of it. But Moriarty had him trapped.

He tried not to wince as Moriarty pushed two slicked up fingers into him right away. He attempted to wiggle away but Moriarty put a hand on his hip to still him. "Was it like this when Sherlock did it to you?" Moriarty asked conversationally.

John's eyes widened at the mention of his previous owners name. Jim's lips curled into a smirk. "You didn't know I knew about him, did you? Oh yes, I know all about Sherlock Holmes, even you by extension. He's been the fly in my ointment for awhile now, always meddling and messing up my plans. I've been coming up with ways to get rid of him for a long time. I couldn't believe it when his pet walked into my home, willingly as it turned out. Such luck and now the plan is all set for little Sherlock."

John's heart started to race as he sheer terror overtook him. Oh God, what had he done?

"Why do you think I let Harry go so easily? I had no reason to. You were trapped with no escape and nothing to bargain with. I already had you, I didn't need to make the deal. I could have just kept you both. But the moment I recognized you, the wheels started turning in my head. I let Harry go because she's going to lead Holmes right to me because he will come for you Johnny, mark my words. The moment he does, he will meet his end."

John struggled against his ties, trying to get free, trying to hurt Moriarty. John couldn't let this happen, he couldn't let Sherlock come here just to be murdered. He needed to warn him, find a way to stop him. Jim started laughing as John continued to struggle. Jim grabbed John's hips and thrust into him with one harsh slide. John bit on his tongue to keep from making a sound but did it hard enough to draw blood.

John turned his face away, unable to look at Moriarty condescending smirk any longer. How could he have been so stupid? Now he had put himself and Sherlock in danger. Somehow he had to find a way to stop it, stop Sherlock from trying to save him. Even if it meant John spent the rest of his life in Moriarty's clutches, he couldn't let Sherlock be lead to his death.

Moriarty grabbed John under his chin roughly and made John look at him. "I'm being nice enough to fuck you face to face, the least you could do is look at me." Moriarty said ramming into John relentlessly.

John frowned and tried to look away even though he couldn't move his head. "No, no, look at me." Jim commanded

John narrowed his eyes and looked up at the man holding him captive. One day, John promised himself that he would find a way to kill Moriarty. Even if it meant he died too. He would find a way to make sure Moriarty didn't live long enough to hurt Sherlock or anyone else.

"Remember the deal Johnny, just make some noise and this stops being every night. Just one sound and you'll get time off for good behavior. Well?" Jim looked at John expectantly.

John didn't make a sound.

XXXX

Mycroft Holmes walked through the streets of London. To anyone who didn't know him, it might look like he was simply out for a stroll but Mycroft did not do strolls. In fact physical activity of any kind was not really his area. No, on this afternoon, Mycroft had a very specific goal in mind that involved locating his baby brother.

Sherlock had been missing for just over two weeks. He had vacated Baker Street with nothing more than his coat, wallet and mobile. The phone had been encrypted to make GPS tracking impossible. It had taken Mycroft longer than he would have liked to find his younger brother, but then, Sherlock was very good at not being found if he didn't want to be.

It had been a grueling search and not one Mycroft wanted to repeat. Sherlock had apparently been living amongst the homeless, moving from underpass to park in an attempt to evade being found. Still, he couldn't hide forever and eventually Mycroft had found him sleeping on a bench in Regency Park.

Sherlock didn't say a word as Mycroft joined him, wiping down the bench with his handkerchief before sitting. He simply drew in on himself, raising his knees to his chest and looking impossibly young. Mycroft sighed loudly. He had never been a very affectionate person but the urge to put his arm around his younger brother was astonishing. Sherlock had gotten very good at masking his pain over the years and seeing him like this reminded Mycroft of when they were small children.

"You can't continue on like this." Mycroft said, breaking the thick silence between them.

"I seem to be doing fine." Sherlock snapped back, always so aggressive.

"You're really not." Mycroft contradicted, twirling his umbrella in his hand. "Honestly Sherlock, forsaking a home provided for you by your family and living on the streets? You're lucky I don't tell Mummy about this, she would be appalled."

Sherlock looked away and hugged his legs tighter.

"Not to mention the drug use. You're much too clever to be acting in this way Sherlock."

"Piss off Mycroft." Sherlock growled, still unable to meet his brother's gaze.

"I've arranged for you to be taken somewhere."

"Where?" Sherlock asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Somewhere to get you clean and healthy again. You look ready to waste away."

"I'm fine." Sherlock insisted again.

"No, Sherlock. You are so very far from fine. I should have stepped in sooner, kept you from letting John leave."

"This has _nothing_ to do with him." Sherlock snarled angrily.

"Oh please, you've been growing steadily worse since the moment you released him and now you're living as a homeless person, drugged out of your mind. I always told Mummy that she got you a pet too young. You were much too dependent on John and now –"

"Shut up!" Sherlock snapped, jumping to his feet. "Shut up!"

"Sherlock Holmes, you will calmly sit back down on this bench and behave like the rational human being I know you are while we discuss this. Then you will be taken somewhere to get these horrible drugs out of your system. If you don't comply, I will order you."

Sherlock looked around, clearly looking for possible escape routes. Mycroft wasn't concerned, he had the area well blocked off, any possible escape routes covered. Sherlock was trapped so Mycroft calmly spun his umbrella in his hand and waited for his younger brother to see reason.

With a huff of breath, Sherlock sat back down. He leaned over and buried his face in his hands. Again, Mycroft felt the strange need to comfort his brother, to rub his back soothingly. He suppressed it and waited for Sherlock to get it together.

"That was our home." Sherlock mumbled against his gloved hands.

"Pardon?"

"Baker Street. It was ours, mine and John's. It was too painful to be there without him." Sherlock confessed and again a strange sense of brotherly affection overtook Mycroft as he felt sympathy for his brother's plight.

"We can find you a different flat once you've finished at the facility." Mycroft offered.

"No. When John… I mean_ if _John comes home, I have to be there. Baker Street has to remain ours in case he ever decides to come back. He needs to be able to find me."

"Oh Sherlock." Mycroft reached out and squeezed his brother's hand. They both looked mildly uncomfortable by the gesture, even if Sherlock's glove kept it from being skin on skin, so Mycroft removed his hand quickly. Still, it pained Mycroft to see his brother so miserable. He would get to work on getting Sherlock clean and then he would concentrate on finding John.

XXXX

When Mycroft arrived home, Gregory was already there waiting for him. Anthea had given him a cup of tea that he was nursing and they were sitting together in the living room, Anthea texting on her blackberry while Greg looked uncomfortable. The moment Mycroft walked into the room, Greg stood and placed the cup down.

"Did you find him?"

"I did." Mycroft nodded. "Thank you for alerting me to my brother's condition, I'm sorry to say I had no idea."

"Yeah, how does something like that escape you? I thought you knew everything." Greg said, slightly teasing but also chiding for the oversight.

"I'm afraid I've been rather busy and I believed Mrs. Hudson would contact me if anything were truly wrong. Apparently she hadn't even seen Sherlock leave. She spent the last two weeks believing Sherlock was upstairs being unusually quiet."

"Was he in bad shape when you found him?"

"Not as bad as I had been expecting. Then again, from the way you described it, I was half expecting to find him dead somewhere."

"What about John?" Greg asked.

Their conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. "Anthea, do you mind?" Mycroft asked. Anthea slipped her blackberry into her skirt pocket and stood. She went to answer the door without saying a word.

"Well he's been gone for a few months now and he hadn't answered his phone. I've left him about half a dozen messages and he hasn't called me back. That's strange for him and honestly, it's got me worried." Greg confessed.

"Finding his sister can't have been an easy task. Perhaps he just didn't want any distractions."

"He would have at least called or sent me a quick text. He wouldn't ignore me, not for this long." Greg said with conviction.

Mycroft nodded and embraced Greg, all the urge to touch suddenly overtaking him. "I'll make John my highest priority."

"Thank you." Greg said against Mycroft's shoulder.

Someone cleared their throat behind them and the two men pulled away from each other, both blushing, embarrassed at being caught in an embrace. Anthea stood there, waiting. "There's a woman named Harry at the door. She says she's looking for someone named Holmes."

"Tell her she's got the wrong – "

"No, wait." Greg interjected quickly. "Did she give a last name?"

"Watson." Anthea supplied.

"Do you know her?" Mycroft asked in confusion.

"I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that's John's sister. She might know where he is."

"Then by all means show her in." Mycroft dismissed Anthea with a flick of his wrist. Both of the men remaining in the room took their seats and waited. Anthea led a young woman no more than twenty-five into the room. She had long blond hair that looked unkempt and frazzled. She looked tired and frightened.

"How may we help you?" Mycroft asked, smiling as friend as was possible.

"I'm looking for someone named Holmes who might know my brother?" Harry said timidly.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes." He said introducing himself. "And your brother's name is…?"

"John, John Watson." Harry responded, shaking Mycroft's offered hand. "He told me to come find someone named Holmes."

"Well, we believe you've come to the right place. Do you know where your brother is?" Mycroft asked, wanting to get right to the point. The quicker this matter was solved, the better.

"Here." Greg said getting up and showing Harry to a seat. "Why don't you sit down and tell us everything you know."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry again for such a long time in between chapters.

Warnings: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Double Penetration, drug abuse.

* * *

><p>"Oh John!" Moriarty called out cheerfully when he entered the room. "I've got such a wonderful surprise for you!"<p>

John gritted his teeth and wondered what horror awaited him now. He was sitting on the bed, fully clothed, waiting since the moment Moriarty's henchmen had dumped him in there. Now Moriarty had finally showed up with Moran in tow, looking like he was a kid on his birthday.

He stood before John and held out a phone. It took John a moment to recognize it as his mobile; the one Moriarty had taken off him. His eyes widened, wondering what Moriarty could possibly want with John's phone. Almost as if answering the question John hadn't spoken aloud Moriarty turned the phone on. "You've had some very interesting messages since you've been with us Johnny. Listening to them is always a treat."

He went into John's voicemail inbox and put it on speaker so they could all hear. "Hi John, it's Greg. Just checking –"

"Booring!" Moriarty pressed the delete button.

"John, it's Greg again. I'm getting worried can you –"

"Dull." Moriarty deleted that as well. And so it went for a few more of Greg's messages until Moriarty finally stopped and they listened to one to completion."

"It's, well it's Sherlock. He's in a bad way." Greg said on the message and John felt his blood run cold. In a bad way how? _Oh God Sherlock, what have you been doing? _John thought miserably. His mind raced with all kinds of possibilities and horrible images crossed his mind.

"But wait, this one is my favorite." Jim said, sharing a smirk with Moran before pressing play.

"John?" His breath hitched the moment he heard Sherlock's voice on the recording. "It's me, it's Sherlock. I know you'll probably delete this and I've called you so many times unable to leave a message until now. But I just wanted to say that I…I want you to come home. I…I miss you. Please John. I'll be here, waiting for you. I love you."

John looked away and bit down on his tongue, trying to keep the tears that were threatening to start from falling. He wasn't about to cry in front of Moriarty.

"Aww, how sweet." Jim said with false saccharine. "He misses you."

Moran chuckled and John shot him a nasty look, ready to tear his head off.

"How much do you think it will destroy him to learn that you belong to someone else?" Moriarty asked, gripping the underside of John's chin and forcing him to look. "That you've been fucked by someone else?" He licked a stripe up John's throat and then turned towards Sebastian. "Get the camera."

The moment Moriarty's back was turned; John lunged for him, ready to tear his head off. His hand had just brushed against Moriarty's skin when Moran restrained him. Moriarty went through the dresser and turned around holding a syringe, the biggest smile on his face. "We're going to do things a bit differently this time pet."

Moran grabbed John's hair and pulled his head to the side, elongating his neck. The moment Moriarty started moving closer, John started to struggle. Jim tilted his head so his face was aligned with John's. "Don't worry Johnny, you're going to enjoy this." He jabbed the needle into John's neck and pushed down until the contents were empty. John tried to get free of Moran's grip until he started to feel woozy. His eyes started to droop as the drugs took effect. He felt like he was floating until he realized it was Moran, placing him on the bed.

"Nighty-night." Jim sing-songed, waving at John as his eyes shut.

XXXX

When John awoke, he felt like his skin was on fire. He looked around desperately, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened to him. He needed…something. He had no idea what but he could feel it, this urge inside him for something he couldn't put to words.

And then a hand stroked up his chest and he knew. Touch, he needed to be touched. "How do you feel?" Moriarty asked, his voice sounding strange, as if John were underwater. John shook his head, trying to clear it but the strange sensation remained. "Drink." Jim ordered, placing a cup to John's lips. John did so willingly; the water moistening his throat was the best he had ever tasted.

"What did you…do…to me?" John asked, the water making his throat feel less painfully dry.

"I gave you a drug cocktail of my own design. Part ecstasy, part Viagra, part hallucinogenic with some other things thrown in. Now we're going to have some fun."

Moriarty grazed his hand down John's chest until it came to rest on his groin. It was only then that John realized he was hard, painfully hard, achingly hard. Jim gave his dick a few strokes and John arched up off the bed, moaning loudly.

"Don't." John said, trying to move but having difficulty getting his body to respond to anything other than the attention his penis was receiving. "Stop." He said desperately.

"Don't stop?" Jim grinned wickedly. "All right, I won't."

He bent his head and sucked one of John's nipples into his mouth, tugging at it with his teeth. John groaned and found his hands seemed to have a mind of their own. One ran through Jim's hair while the other was placed on his back, holding his master to him.

"That's right pet, enjoy it." Moriarty said bringing his face up closer and pressing his lips to John's. John groaned and pulled Jim closer to him, kissing him deeply.

When Jim pulled back, his face shifted and changed. John blinked a few times, trying to figure out what was happening. Until Jim was no longer there and in his place was a thin, pale face with sharp cheekbones, striking grey eyes and a mop of curly dark hair.

"Oh." John breathed, feeling his entire body relax. Sherlock was there, he had found him, rescued him. John smiled widely and hugged Sherlock to him. He flipped them over so Sherlock was on his back and John kissed him passionately, only breaking away to come up for air. "I missed you."

Sherlock raised his hand and caressed John's face. John pressed against the touch, closing his eyes. But with his eyes closed, his mind was tugging at something, trying to remind him of something. How could Sherlock be here? What had happened to Moriarty?

John blinked again and every time he did, the man before him changed, switching between Sherlock and Moriarty, distorting reality. _You've been drugged, _John told himself. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's unruly curls and they felt wrong but his brain kept telling him it was right.

"John." Sherlock said affectionately, sitting up to kiss him. "Let me make love to you."

"Yes." John said right away, without pausing to think about it. His cock was verging on painful and he needed to come.

Sherlock slicked up his fingers and slowly inserted one inside John. John clung to Sherlock, sucking and nibbling at his neck. "I've wanted this for so long." John said, kissing across Sherlock's collarbone. "Take me."

"Of course." Sherlock grinned and brought their lips together again. Sherlock now had three fingers inside John and John pushed back against them greedily, grinding his hips down so he was practically riding them.

Sherlock brushed his fingers against John's prostate and his head snapped back, moaning obscenely. Sherlock bent his head down and started sucking at John's neck. "Please." John begged, digging his fingers into Sherlock's shoulders. "I need your cock. Fuck me, please. Fuck me."

"As you wish." Sherlock said, kissing John again as he removed his fingers.

"Need you." John murmured against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock chuckled and started to lube up his prick. John watched hungrily, his whole body aching to be penetrated. The moment Sherlock was ready, John positioned himself over him, grabbed the base of his cock and sunk down. John's body stretched to compensate as he took Sherlock bit by bit.

"John." Sherlock groaned, grasping at John's hips as he took Sherlock the whole way in. John rolled his hips, reaching out to grab the headboard for leverage. He stared down at Sherlock, thinking about how long it had been since he'd seen that face. Too long, it had been much too long. He remembered when he'd been caged for two weeks and Sherlock had broken in to see him. Even then they couldn't bear to be apart for that long.

"John, tell me you love me." Sherlock requested between gasps, staring up at John lovingly as John pulled more wonderful sounds from Sherlock's mouth.

"I love you." John said bending down to capture Sherlock's lips. Sherlock gripped John's hips hard and shoved up into him. John broke away in order to let out a filthy moan. "Yes, come on, fuck me."

Sherlock complied, bringing John down to meet his thrusts up. Without warning, John came, spilling himself over Sherlock's chest and stomach. Sherlock groaned and followed almost immediately, filling John with his seed. John fell to the side, boneless and exhausted. Sherlock turned to face him and ran his fingers through John's hair. John smiled and moved closer, wrapping his arm around Sherlock. It didn't take long for John to fall asleep, feeling blissfully happy to have Sherlock with him again.

XXXX

John awoke feeling dehydrated and groggy but that was nothing compared to how he felt when he opened his eyes and noticed he was sleeping in Moriarty's arms. He quickly untangled himself and sat up, inching further and further away. This was the first time he had ever spent the night in Moriarty's bed and even though a warm bed was preferable to his cage, he didn't enjoy the company.

He was just about to ease off the bed when Moriarty spoke, his voice still husky from sleep. "Get back here."

John froze, unsure what to do. He desperately needed a glass of water and putting his clothes back on would be nice. But disobeying Moriarty would be more trouble than it was worth. So John eased back into the bed and Moriarty instantly curled up against him, resting his head on John's chest. John's whole body was ridged as Jim brushed his fingers through the bit of hair John had on his chest and John could feel Moriarty's morning erection against his hip.

Jim sighed contentedly and started to rut against him, sliding his hardness up and down John's side. "I usually have someone brought in to deal with this." Moriarty confessed, letting out a breathy moan. "This is much more convenient."

Moriarty moved so he was on top of John, burying his face in John's neck. He thrust against John's body, his length pressing against John's stomach, leaving smears of precome. Jim started sucking at the skin at John's neck and a shiver of revulsion ran through him. Moriarty let out a visceral growl and pulled away, grabbing John's face and forcing it up to Jim's chest.

"Suck." Moriarty commanded, placing one tiny pink nipple against John's pursed lips. John reluctantly parted them and suckled at the bump until it hardened in his mouth. Jim held his head, not letting John up, forcing him to inhale sharply through his nose.

"Yes! Oh Yes!" Moriarty cried out, grinding roughly against John until he spilled himself all over John's stomach. He bent forward and kissed John solidly on the mouth before rolling off. He grabbed his dressing gown and put it on before sliding off the bed. "Get yourself cleaned up." Moriarty said over his shoulder as he went to shower.

John found some tissues and used them to clean himself up as best he could. When Jim came back from showering, John was just starting to put his clothes on, glaring at the other man. It caught Jim's attention and he walked over, placing one still slightly damp hand on John's cheek.

"Oh darling, don't look at me like that." Moriarty gave John's cheek a rough pat that left it stinging. "You've been here over a month, you know how this goes."

"Yes, I do." John said, jerking his head out of Moriarty's grip and starting to put on his shoes.

"Yes, you do…" Moriarty echoed, frowning in concentration. "So something has changed. Didn't like sharing my bed for the night? Or the fact that I had you twice in a row? The drugs?"

John averted his eyes.

"Ah, the drugs then. But something more than that. Last night was the first time you've had an orgasm since you've been here. That's what's got you upset. You don't like the idea that you might enjoy sex with me because then you'd have to admit that you enjoy being a pet. You enjoy being dominated because you're not good at anything else."

"You're wrong." John said, standing up. Jim shoved him back onto the bed and crawled onto it with him, placing himself behind John.

"Then what is it pet? Tell daddy everything." Jim said nipping at the shell of John's ear.

"Isn't it enough that you invade my body whenever you want, now you have to invade my mind as well?" John bit out angrily.

"You don't get it yet, do you Johnny?" Jim inquired, ghosting his lips over John's neck and making him shudder. "You're _mine._" Jim growled and bit down on his neck, breaking the skin. "Every inch of you is mine. Including what's up here."

Moriarty pressed a single finger to John's temple.

"Everything. All mine." Moriarty said as he trailed his finger down John's torso until in settled over his groin. "Mine." He snarled, giving it a squeeze. "And I will do with it what I want."

Jim undid the zip on John's trousers and pulled out his cock. "Do you think this is over?" Moriarty hissed against John's ear as he stroked him. "It's not. It's never over because you'll never get away from me Johnny. You think Sherlock will save you? He won't. I'm much too clever to let him take my prize away. I think I'll kill him in front of you, let you watch him die so you understand that there is no hope. And until then, I will do what I want with you."

John swallowed hard and tried to keep down the tears threatening to appear at the corners of his eyes. He didn't bother saying anything, there was nothing to say at this point. He was trapped and there's was nothing he could do about it. If Sherlock came to rescue him, Sherlock would die. If Sherlock didn't come, he would be stuck in this life forever.

"Bored now." Jim said when John's dick refused to harden for him. He took his hand away and rolled off the bed. "Sebastian!"

Moran appeared in the doorway almost instantly.

"Make sure Johnny gets back to his cage." Jim instructed as he left the room. Moran nodded and turned his attention to John.

"Uh, you might want to put that away." He said with his eyes flickering down to John's crotch.

"Right." John slipped himself back into his trousers. "Because walking around with my willy out would definitely be the most embarrassing thing that's happened since I've been here."

Moran snorted at John's sarcastic comment. "Well leave it out if you want then, I won't mind."

John looked up at Moriarty's second in command and was met with a somewhat friendly smile. It was off-putting, especially when you considered the amount of times this man had hit him. "I think your boss might." John contradicted, standing up and squaring his shoulders.

"Right you are." Moran agreed, grabbing John by his forearm and leading him out of the room.

XXXXX

It got to the point where the drugs were something of a comfort. Instead of being raped, John could get lost in his mind, a mind where Sherlock was with him. The problem was the morning after when he'd wake up in Moriarty's arms and the illusion was gone.

He didn't like to think about all the things he said and did while he brain was muddled with drugs. He said things he didn't mean, did things he never would have if he had been in his right mind. But it was all a lie and thankfully the drugs kept most of it a hazy memory. But he always remembered Moriarty's smug grin in the morning as he got off with John a second time, without the drugs, reminding John of his situation and how helpless he truly was.

However the strangest part about it was finding comfort in a place he had not expected. Every morning after Jim left, Moran would be sent in. He'd give John a tentative smile and they'd exchange a few words. As the days went on, Moran's grip on John's forearm as he led him back to the basement became looser and looser until they'd simply walk down the hall side by side until they passed someone and Moran would grab John just for show.

John had no idea what to make of it until he discovered the reason for Moran's kindness. He was having his usual nightly session with Moriarty, drugged as always, when something strange happened. Something new and alien was pushed inside him, stretching him further. It took longer for his drug-addled mind to supply that they were someone else's fingers.

"What's going on?" John asked, staring down at Sherlock.

"Shh, it's alright. You'll like this, I promise." Sherlock said, running his hands up and down John's thighs comfortingly.

He continued riding Sherlock's cock as more fingers were pushed inside him, stretching him further than he'd ever been before. John turned his head to see but when he looked at the person behind him, all he saw was a blank face.

John felt terrified as the faceless man saddled up behind him. The fingers were eased out and replaced with the man's cock. It was pushed inside him slowly and John hissed in pain as his body tried to compensate. He felt so full and so strange.

"It's ok." Sherlock said reassuringly. "You'll like it, I promise."

John closed his eyes and nodded. When his body had adjusted, the two men started to move. John bit down on his lower lip and threw his head back. "It's too much, it's too much." He cried out as his whole body felt overwhelmed with sensations.

"You're fine."

John whimpered and dropped his head onto the shoulder of the man behind him. The man ducked his head down and started placing sucking kisses along John's neck and collarbone.

"Just breathe John." The faceless man said and John gulped in air as if he had been drowning.

He gripped the man behind him as the two moved inside him, filling him completely. "Touch me, someone please touch me." John begged, needing to come before he went insane.

Sherlock and the other man exchanged a few wordless glances and finally the faceless man reached around and began to stroke him. It only took three pulls before John was coming hard, shooting out of his dick with such force that some of it landed on Sherlock's chin. He might have come twice, he wasn't even sure but the man kept his hand moving, milking John for all he was worth.

He could feel himself clenching his internal muscles as he rode out the rest of his orgasm.. It didn't take long before the other two were brought over the edge, filling John again, this time with come. He slumped against the man behind him, his body feeling ready to give out. He felt as if he couldn't even move and sure enough, he drifted off to sleep not five minutes later.

XXXX

John could hear voices, although they were hard to make out. His brain was still fuzzy from the power of his orgasm and the drugs. But he caught snippets here and there.

_"You want me to share him? Have you lost your mind Seb?" _

_ "You shared him with me tonight. What difference does it make?" _

_ "The difference is that I was actually present. You want me to leave you alone with him?" _

_ XXXX_

_ "Oh don't give me that Seb. I've seen the way you've been looking at him. The way you've been getting all friendly in the hallways. You think I wouldn't notice?" _

_ "It's nothing."_

_ "You're damn right it's nothing, I should – hold on. We might be able to use this to our advantage." _

_ "What do you mean?" _

_ XXXX_

_ "Fine. You want him? Then you make sure Sherlock gets that video. That he gets it and he watches it, understand me?" _

_ "Yes boss." _

_ "You do a good job, I'll let you have him for an evening."_

_ XXXX_

Sherlock was trying to forget. He'd packed up anything belonging to John and put in boxes in his room. Then he'd shut the door and never gone in there again. Now the flat consisted of only things that were his. The problem was the entire flat had been John's, at least half his anyways, and Sherlock couldn't escape that. Everywhere he looked there was evidence of John, where he walked, sat, touched. The sofa where they'd finally been together. His bed where he'd hurt John beyond repair.

Sherlock had been searching for him. He'd hacked into the CCTV and spent hours looking for any sign of his former pet. But it seemed that John was no longer in London. In fact it seemed that John wasn't anywhere. Sherlock had no idea what to do. He couldn't move on but John had been gone for over four months. The likelihood that he would return grew smaller each day.

Until he received something in the mail, an unmarked package that was addressed to him and he felt himself beginning to hope. Was John finally contacting him? He ran upstairs, throwing the rest of the mail down on the chair and tearing the package open quickly. Inside he found a blank DVD and his curiosity was peaked. He booted up his laptop and stuck the DVD in the moment it was on. Pulling his chair closer, he waited impatiently for the movie to load.

When it did, the first thing Sherlock recognized was John. John in some strange room. His eyes darted around, gaining as much information as possible until a noise interrupted him. He glanced back at John and finally took in the scene in front of him. John was having sex with someone, a person Sherlock didn't recognize.

_It must be a trick. John wouldn't. _Sherlock thought desperately as he tried unsuccessfully to look away. John was writhing, gasping and moaning as he rode this other man. Sherlock forced himself to watch, taking deep inhales and slow exhales to keep himself calm. He must have been missing something. What was happening? Who was this man?

"I love you." John said on camera and finally Sherlock could close his eyes. He snapped the laptop shut and then through it across the room. Within seconds he was in his room, digging through his closet for his secret supply. His vision became blurred as the tears flowed. He hadn't cried this hard since the first time he'd been forced to whip John, when John had tried to get away from him. Well apparently John had succeeded and Sherlock was left with nothing.

Sherlock gave up on trying to find the drugs and instead curled up into a ball on the floor, blocking out the world, blocking out everything, wishing he couldn't feel a thing.

XXXX

One night John was brought to a different room, one he'd never been in before. He stood by the door, awkwardly waiting for what was to come. The room he was in was somewhat modest, with just a bed and a dresser. To his surprise, Moran stepped through the door.

"Hello John." Moran gave him a small smile.

John scowled at him in reply.

"What?" Moran asked, confused by John's icy demeanor.

"You know, you could have told me that the only reason you were being nice to me was because you wanted to fuck me." John said crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the other man.

"John, I wasn't."

"Really?" John scoffed. "Because that's what it looked like to me."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You wanted me. Why you felt the need to act kind is beyond me though."

"It wasn't an act."

"Really?" John asked, disbelievingly. "All this time I thought maybe I had an ally, someone I might be able to trust. And then you joined him in fucking me. You didn't even care that I was so drugged out of my mind that I couldn't even recognize who you were. No, all that mattered was that it sounded like I was enjoying it and that you got off."

"It wasn't like that." Sebastian insisted. "Let me explain."

"You don't have to." John said, starting to strip. "I should have known better than to expect any kind of human decency in this place."

"What are you doing?" Seb asked as John removed his shirt and threw it on the floor.

"That's what I'm here for right?" John spat out angrily. "You want another go, correct? Why should it matter what I want?"

"John, stop." Moran said, grabbing John's hands and holding them against the wall by his head. "Let me explain."

"You don't have to explain." John narrowed his eyes in disgust. "You want to fuck me, so go on."

"Will you listen to me?" Seb hissed in frustration. "I like you."

John laughed bitterly. "Pull the other one."

"I'm serious, I –" Seb bit his bottom lip, trying to find the right words. "You stood up to Jim, you took everything he threw at you. You're strong and resilient and God you have no idea what a turn on that is for me. Talking to you was…nice. I liked it, that short time we had together. And then Jim offered to let me join in and I'm sorry but I couldn't help myself. I wanted you. I want you."

Seb ducked his head down and pressed his lips firmly to John's. He sucked on John's bottom lip, then his top one before slowly inserting his tongue. John moaned and opened his mouth, allowing Seb in. They kissed deeply for a few moments before Seb broke away and buried his face in the hollow of John's neck.

"I'm not like him, you know." Sebastian said quietly. "I don't like just taking people. I want the person I'm with to enjoy it as much as I do."

He let go of John's hands and kissed down John's chest, slowly dropping to his knees in front of him. "Tell me what you like." Seb requested, starting to undo the zip on John's jeans.

"I – I…"

"You have no idea, do you?" Seb asked, giving him a sympathetic smile. "When you were a pet, it was all about your owner, wasn't it? Then you came here. You've never had anyone take care of you, have you?"

"No." John shook his head.

"It's alright, if I start to do anything you're uncomfortable with, just tell me."

"Ok." John agreed, his heart racing as Seb pulled his trousers and pants down to his knees.

"You know I've been thinking about your dick ever since that day you had it out and made a joke about it." Seb confessed, leaning forward and licking his way up the underside.

"Oh god." John groaned, his hands curled into fists at his side.

"So gorgeous." He said kissing his way up the shaft.

"Seb." John couldn't help reaching out and gripping the other man by the shoulders.

"Get on the bed." Seb instructed, rising to his feet. John stepped out of his clothes and lied down completely naked, waiting for more. Seb removed his shirt and John got a good look at just how muscular the man was. It made his own body look soft and flabby in comparison.

Sebastian grabbed the lube from under his pillow before crawling up John's body. They kissed hungrily as Sebastian slicked up his fingers. He moved his thumb in a circle around John's hole, massaging the rim. Then gently, he pushed his thumb in. "Alright?" Seb asked.

"Yes." John replied breathlessly.

"Good."

Seb started kissing and biting his way down John's chest until he got to his lower abdomen. He threw John's legs over his shoulders and took John's prick into his mouth. He sucked him slowly, keeping his tongue firm against the underside.

"Seb." John cried out, twisting his fingers into the short, cropped hair. Seb had switched his thumb with his first two fingers, pumping them in and out of John in time with his mouth. "Christ."

Seb pulled back so just the head was still in his mouth and he sucked it hard. John arched up off the bed, his body glistening with sweat. Seb pulled off completely and started to lick at John's body, tasting the saltiness of his sweat.

"Can I fuck you?" Seb asked, his own erection tenting his trousers and aching with need.

John looked away and an unbelievably sad expression crossed his face. For a moment Seb was worried he'd said something wrong. "John?"

John looked at him and gave him a faint smile. "Yes." He nodded.

Seb leaned forward and kissed him slowly and sweetly as he reached down and undid his own trousers. He pushed them down and out of the way before lubing himself up. He pressed the head against John's entrance, grabbing John's legs and wrapping them around his middle. Then he bent down and kissed John again, easing into him slowly.

John gasped against Seb's lips as he filled him. He knew he was bigger than Jim but after John had had both of them at the same time, it shouldn't have been too uncomfortable for him. Seb stayed very still, letting John adjust as they kissed each other languidly. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he pulled out and pushed back in. He did it a few more times, pressing into the wonderful tight heat of John's hole.

"Can I go faster?" he asked, trying to keep his promise and make sure John wasn't uncomfortable.

John nodded, biting his bottom lip in a way that Seb wasn't sure was supposed to be seductive but it was anyways. He started thrusting harder and deeper, never taking his eyes off John. John's eyes meanwhile had fluttered closed and he pressed his body down to meet Seb's thrusts in.

John let go of his bottom lip and his mouth fell open. Seb moaned, thinking that John had no idea how fucking sexy he was. He started moving faster, feeling close already. He reached out and curled his hand around John's cock, wanking him in time to his thrusts. John's eyes snapped open wide as he gripped Seb's shoulders and shook through his orgasm. Seb followed quickly, still fucking John until every drop was spent.

He collapsed on top of John and then gently pulled out. For moment there was no sound but them panting as they tried to calm down. Seb reached for John and tugged him closer, wrapping his arms around him. "Have a good time?"

"I'd say so." John chuckled and Seb smiled triumphantly.

"I'm glad."

"Will this happen again?" John asked, stroking his hand up and down Seb's back. "Or was it a one time thing?"

"I don't know." Seb frowned. "I'll have to work something out with Jim."

"I – I think I'd like it to." John gave Seb a tentative smile.

"So would I." Seb gave John a quick kiss. "You must be tired. Get some sleep."

Seb waited for John to fall asleep before he slipped out of the bed and put his boxers back on. He went out into the hall where Jim was waiting for him.

"Have fun?" Jim asked, sounding casual but Seb knew inside Jim was furious.

"Yes." Seb shrugged, trying to match Jim's tone.

"It sounded like it." Jim raised an eyebrow almost in an accusation. "Did he say anything?"

"Nothing important."

"Well…keep me updated." Jim said as he pushed of the wall. He'd only taken a few steps away when he turned back and attacked Seb's lips, pushing his tongue into his mouth and roving and exploring. Seb wrapped his arms around his boss's waist and pulled him closer.

"Hmm." Jim hummed happily as he pulled away. "You taste like him."

Seb sighed, feeling somewhat deflated. As much as he wanted John, he would always want Jim more. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he went back into his room and crawled back into his bed. John immediately shifted so he was snuggling against Seb's chest. Seb put his arm around John and held him close. At least it was something.

XXXX

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called out.

Sherlock groaned and turned over, covering his ears. He could hear Mycroft's heavy footsteps getting closer and his brother was absolutely the last person he wanted to see.

"Sherlock Holmes, what did you take?" Mycroft asked, kneeling beside his brother and forcing his eyes open.

"Nothing." Sherlock batted his hands away. "God."

"Gregory and I have both been calling you for the past three days. What have you been doing?"

"Nothing."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe." Sherlock spat back, getting to his feet. He walked out of the room and into the kitchen, going through the cupboards until he found some aspirin.

"I have news about John Watson." Mycroft said, standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Not interested." Sherlock said dry-swallowing the pills.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"He has a new owner. A Man called Jim Moriarty."

"I said I'm not interested." Sherlock spun around looking slightly murderous. "I don't care that John's found a new owner. I don't care about any of it. John Watson can rot in hell as far as I'm concerned."

"You don't mean that."

"I do. I hate him."

"What happened Sherlock?" Mycroft asked in concern.

"Nothing. It's not important." Sherlock waved it off, going into the sitting room and picking up his violin.

"Well if you're certain you don't want to know…"

"I'm certain. Now leave me in peace."

Somewhat reluctantly, Mycroft took his leave. The moment he was gone, Sherlock put down his violin, went upstairs to John's room and proceeded to ruin anything of John's that was left. When he was finished, he flopped down onto John's bed, inhaling what remained of John's scent and started to sob uncontrollably. He cried so long and so hard he eventually wore himself out, falling asleep in John's bed, unable to get the image of John with someone else out of his head.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hey guys, sorry this took me so long to update. Four months! Holy crap. Now that's it's summer I'm going to try and not be so shit about updating but this fic is kind of sucking out my soul bit by bit with all its angst. I'll do my best but thanks for anyone still reading, I appreciate you guys bearing with me.

* * *

><p>A newly orphaned, 9 year old John Watson lied on his back in his cage, staring out the small window above him. In the next cage over he could hear his sister's sobs and though they'd tried to reach for each other through the bars, their arms weren't long enough. His sister cried and cried, for their dead parents, for their circumstances and John Watson could do little but listen.<p>

And it broke his heart.

XXXX

"Oh God." Harry said, gaping wide-eyed at the noodles covering the floor. "I didn't mean to Johnny. The pot was too heavy and it burned my fingers. I couldn't hold on to it."

Harry started crying and John couldn't stand it.

"It's alright Harry." John wrapped his arms around his sister in a fierce hug. He grabbed either side of her face and forced her to pay attention to him. "I'm the one who dropped them. Go over and peel potatoes. You were doing it the whole time. I'm the one who dropped the pot, you've got it?"

Harry sniffled and nodded at him.

"Go." He said, pushing her towards the other side of the kitchen. By the time one of the keepers came to check on dinner, Harry had calmed herself down. John was busy sweeping up the spilt noodles.

"What happened here, young man?" The keeper asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

"It was an accident." John said, continuing to sweep.

"You've cost everyone their dinner." She said, grabbing John by the scruff of his neck and boxing his ears. He heard a chair scrap across the floor as Harry jumped to her feet. John turned to look at her and shook his head slightly. The keeper didn't seem to notice. "What owner is going to want a pet that is so clumsy?"

"I'm sorry." John said, his ears ringing from being hit.

"Come with me young man."

It wasn't the first nor the last time John got beaten to save his sister the same fate.

XXXX

Whenever someone would come to the pound looking for a pet, John always tried to look as uninterested as possible. He knew that most children wanted a pet that was eager, looking to please. He couldn't get chosen before Harry. He couldn't leave her alone when he couldn't protect her. But like with most things, it didn't matter what John wanted.

A seven year old Sherlock Holmes strolled through the pound, holding his mothers hand. John barely glanced at him, wishing with all his might that he wouldn't get chosen. He knew the probability of Harry getting chosen by this boy was unlikely. Boys tended to pick boy pets, it was uncommon to do the other way around.

When the boy thrust his finger out towards him, John's heart broke a second time. He looked over at Harry, whose eyes were pleading him not to leave her. He swallowed back his tears and kept his mouth shut, knowing he could do nothing to change his fate. This boy had chosen and John's will didn't factor into it. In the end he didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

XXXX

"You look sad." Sherlock told him their first night together.

"I am sad." John replied honestly.

"Do you not want to be my puppy?" Sherlock asked, frightened that John would say yes.

"No I do." John assured him. John was overly in awe of his new home. His house with his mummy and daddy hadn't been anything as nice as his current living situation. He was, at that moment, in Sherlock's bed, both of them hiding under the covers. Sherlock was afraid of the dark but didn't want to tell anyone. He had a torch that he left on all night, something he had confided to John.

"Good." Sherlock said, satisfied with John's answer. "Because I wanted you so, so much."

John smiled a little. He liked Sherlock from what he'd seen so far. At first Sherlock seemed like he didn't know what to do with John. They spent an hour just staring at each other, neither of them knowing what to say. John had never been a pet before and Sherlock had never had one before. He didn't want to be like Mycroft and have his pet press his clothes and shine his shoes. He wanted a friend, he had other servants to do those boring things for him.

When John had asked Sherlock if he knew any games, Sherlock had lit up. They'd spent the afternoon running around the house, playing pirates. Sherlock only had one wooden sword so John pretended his thumb and first finger was a pistol, shouting "Bang!" when he was shooting at things. They had conquered the library without much fuss. Mycroft's study had been a bit harder and was defended by Greg.

John hadn't had so much fun in a long time. Sherlock was a bit bossy but John didn't mind going along with what Sherlock wanted. It had been ingrained in him at the pound that what his master wanted was what he wanted. He should do whatever it took to please him. If he hadn't been thinking about Harry, he would have been completely content.

In the end, Sherlock had had to be carried forcibly to bed by Mycroft, with John walking behind him with Greg. "No puppy! Run, save yourself!" Sherlock had cried, trying to beat Mycroft with his wooden sword. Greg took it away from him and smiled at John, who returned it. There was a look of understanding that passed between them, one they often shared. There would be, as they grew older, this invisible line that separated the Holmes brothers from their pets. A line between "us" and "them" that Greg and John had to remember lest they think themselves on equal terms with their owners. They were part of the Holmes family, but they were not Holmeses and that made all the difference.

"I've never had a friend before." Sherlock said after a few moments of silence. "The other kids don't like me, even Mycroft doesn't like me."

"I like you." John said, giving Sherlock's hand a little pat for encouragement.

"We'll be best friends." Sherlock beamed at John. "Sherlock and puppy, best friends for life."

John thought about telling Sherlock the truth, telling him his name. Instead he returned Sherlock's smile and together they fell asleep, both holding onto the torch that kept Sherlock from being afraid.

XXXX

Twelve years later, a nineteen year old Sherlock walked through the kitchen while Greg and John were having dinner. He pretended he was looking for something for dessert, it's what he'd told the cooks when he'd barged in, but John knew better. Sherlock could hardly be persuaded to finish his dinner, let alone want something afterwards. He looked through the fridge quickly and then shrugged his shoulders as if nothing looked appetizing. John stifled his giggles and Greg grinned bemusedly at him.

As Sherlock walked back, passing the table, he dropped a note onto the floor near John's foot. John covered it quickly and waited until Greg left to go find Mycroft before he read it. He slipped it out from under his shoe, being careful to keep his back to the cooks.

_Come to my room at midnight if convenient. _

_ If inconvenient, come anyway. – SH _

John smiled and slipped the note into his back pocket. He was nervous in the hours that followed, wondering what would happen when he showed up in Sherlock's room. Maybe Sherlock just needed him for an experiment. Chemistry seemed to be Sherlock's latest obsession that snatched his attention away and meant John spent a good chunk of his day being ignored. He'd read almost every book in the Holmes's expansive library by now.

Ten minutes before midnight, John went into the bathroom and looked himself over. He splashed water on his face and tried to smooth down his hair. There wasn't a lot he could do about his appearance but then Sherlock had never complained before. His heart was thumping away in his chest and nothing seemed to calm it.

He quietly made his way through the house, having explored most of it with Sherlock when they were children, he knew the ins and outs of the place pretty well. He made it up to Sherlock's room undetected and was relieved when he slipped quietly through Sherlock's unlocked door. He leaned against the inside, his eyes closed, and adrenaline running through his body from fear of getting caught.

Sherlock cleared his throat quietly and John finally opened his eyes. Sherlock was lying on his bed, propped up on his elbows, completely naked. John gaped, not because he'd never seen Sherlock naked before, but because Sherlock was sporting an impressive erection. It was standing straight out from his body, flushed red, the foreskin back to expose the glans. John's mouth watered at the sight of Sherlock presenting himself in such a state. It was enough to make John's blood flow downwards, his dick thickening in his trousers.

"Sherlock, what – "

"Shh." Sherlock raised his finger to his lips and John stopped talking. He beckoned John forward with a single long, spindly finger. John's feet forgot how to function and he tripped his way over to the bed. Sherlock smirked at him, at his clumsiness, until John was standing in between Sherlock's parted legs. John's eyes settled on Sherlock's long, elegant cock, that suited the rest of him, matched his long limbs that went on and on in an ever expansive mixture of skin, bone and tendons. John wanted to press his lips to every inch of that pale flesh.

"John." Sherlock said, barely above a whisper, wrapping his hand around the nape of John's neck. "Will you kiss me?"

It was a choice, it was always a choice, and yet it wasn't. John could have said no and yet he couldn't. How could anyone in their right mind turn down this gorgeous creature, with his striking eyes and cutting cheekbones? Sherlock looked like something from a different world, perfectly constructed to drive John insane in the knowledge that he could not touch unless expressly asked. For some reason Sherlock kept asking and though it was a choice, it really wasn't, because John could not deprive Sherlock of anything and in this instance he didn't want to.

John eased onto the bed and Sherlock moved back slightly to allow him room to kneel in between his legs. Unlike most of their kisses that passed too quickly, they indulged in each other this time. Sherlock dropped onto the bed and John followed him down, putting his hands on the bed so he didn't crush his owner. John broke the kiss to press his lips to Sherlock's cheek, throat and jaw.

"John." Sherlock moaned quietly, lifting his hips so his erection brushed against John's hip. "It's becoming increasingly difficult to be in your company."

"Why is that?" John murmured against Sherlock's collarbone.

"All I can think about is this. Having this. Kisses are no longer enough."

John slipped one hand into Sherlock's hair and twisted his fingers around the curls. "We can't do this Sherlock." John panted against Sherlock's ear before tracing the shell of it with the tip of his tongue. "It's against the law."

"I don't care." Sherlock grabbed a hold of the bottom of John's shirt and tugged it up and off. "I think about you."

"What do you think about?" John inquired, mouthing his way down Sherlock's chest. "Tell me."

"About you. Your mouth, on mine, on my skin, on my…"

"You can say it." John grinned against Sherlock's concave stomach.

"My penis." Sherlock choked out as John's mouth got dangerously close to it. "I think about coming in your mouth. I think about fucking you."

"I think about it too." John confessed against Sherlock's hip, licking away the sweat.

"Today I thought about taking you on the dinner table in front of mummy and Mycroft and everyone."

John chuckled before kissing down Sherlock's inner thighs. Sherlock's legs were beginning to shake, his cock leaking.

"I think about running away with you. Forgetting my family's expectations, forgetting the rules. Did you know in America they don't have the law about pets and owners? We could go there, live together, be together."

"Sherlock –"

"I mean it John."

"Your family would disinherit you, how would we live?" John crawled back up Sherlock's body and rested his head against his shoulder. Sherlock pushed his fingers into John's hair and began to stroke. John let out a contented sigh and pressed his lips against any bit of Sherlock's skin he could find.

"We'd find a way. I want to be with you but what we have now isn't enough." Sherlock turned on his side so they were face to face. "I want you so, so much. Please, touch me, please."

John nodded and ran his hand down Sherlock's torso. Sherlock shuddered and then gasped as John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's cock. "We shouldn't be doing this. If anyone finds us…"

"They won't."

"We're in your mother's house. Your brother is right down the hall." John reminded him, slowly stroking up his length.

"I want to touch you too." Sherlock reached for John's trousers.

"You can't, it's against the law."

"Next year I'll be allowed to move out, get my own flat. We can do whatever we want then." Sherlock managed to tug John's trousers down.

"It'll still be illegal."

"No one has to know." Sherlock whispered against John's ear, making him shiver. John twisted his wrist, thumbing over the head of Sherlock's prick. Sherlock moaned against John's neck and thrust into his fist.

"There is…" John bit his bottom lip, wondering if this was the right time to bring this up. "There is another way we could be together."

"John, John, John." Sherlock whispered over and over and John got so caught up he forgot what he was saying and then Sherlock he finally came, his come coating John's hand. John pushed his now slippery hand under the waistband of his pants and with a few sharp strokes he brought himself to completion, biting back a cry of Sherlock's name. It wasn't strictly legal but he figured since he had been partially clothed and Sherlock hadn't seen him come, they might get around the law. Besides, it wasn't as if Sherlock was going to tell anyone.

John wiped his hand on his already soiled pants. Sherlock scooted closer and wrapped his arm over John. He looked sated and happy after his orgasm, his skin bright and luminous. "You're so beautiful." John whispered before finding Sherlock's lips again.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I think you're beautiful too."

"I'm not beautiful." John scoffed. He had no delusions about what he looked like. He was ordinary. Plain.

"You are." Sherlock insisted, running his thumb over John's bottom lip. "Sometimes I just look at you for a while. The way the sunlight catches your hair or the way you smile. The deep blue of your eyes. I could spend hours watching the way your tiny pink tongue wets your lips or the way you walk. You're precious John, you're precious to me. I'm in love with you John and I suspect I have been for quite some time now."

There was silence for a moment as John's mind raced with all the things he wanted to say. Sherlock's confession had been something of a surprise considering he'd spent the last week locked away in his room practically ignoring John. But these moments, the moments where it was just the two of them, no one else, no obsessions, John felt important, wanted, loved. There was a multitude of things he could and wanted to say.

"Sherlock I – "

"Someone's coming!" Sherlock looked frightened as footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. John jumped off the bed, quickly pulling his trousers up and hid underneath it. He had just finished making sure no parts of him were sticking out when the door to Sherlock's room opened.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted in irritation, pulling the covers over himself. "Can't I have any privacy in my own room?"

"I thought I heard voices."

"I was talking to myself." Sherlock waved it off.

"Really? Because I would hate to think what would happen if someone were to find John in here after hours." Mycroft said knowingly and John started to panic, wondering if they were done for.

"Well they won't because it's just me in here."

"Naked?"

"If you must know, I was masturbating, something I should think I am allowed to do in the sanctuary of my own bedroom."

"Right…" Mycroft said as if he didn't really believe him.

"Piss off Mycroft." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"Lock the door next time then, little brother. Wouldn't want Mummy to see you so…unseemly."

"I said piss off."

"Good night Sherlock, John." Mycroft said before shutting out the light and closing the door. John waited a few moments until he heard Mycroft's retreating footsteps and he finally began to breath again. He came out from hiding and looked at Sherlock questioningly.

"Is he going to tell your mother?" John asked, concerned about getting caged or worse, chambered.

"No. He wouldn't dare. Not unless he wants Mummy to learn about what Mycroft and Greg have been getting up to in the stables." Sherlock said menacingly before shooting John a reassuring smile. "He won't say a word."

"Okay." John sighed in relief. "I should probably go though. If anyone notices I'm not in my bed at this hour, they _will_ tell your mother and we can't be certain you'll have dirt on them to keep them quiet."

"I have dirt on everyone, it comes from seeing everything."

"Because you're brilliant." John leaned over the bed and gave Sherlock a quick, sweet kiss good night.

"I am." Sherlock caught John around the wrist and pulled him back for more. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I do, sorry."

"When we move out of here, I'll finally have you all to myself."

"Hmm." John hummed happily against Sherlock's lips. "I look forward to it."

"I like having you be mine." Sherlock gave him a few more tender kisses.

"I like being yours." John kissed Sherlock's forehead and Sherlock closed his eyes. He moved his face down and buried it in the hollow of John's throat.

"Do you?"

"Yes." John started running his hands up and down Sherlock's back soothingly.

"Why?"

"Because I love you too."

They kissed for a little while longer, until John really had to leave. John gave Sherlock one final kiss at the door before he had to quietly sneak back to his room in the servant's quarters. John would have given anything to be able to stay, to spend the night and wake up in Sherlock's arms.

XXXX

Almost two years later, John Watson did wake up in someone's arms. For a moment he deluded himself into thinking it might be Sherlock wrapped around him, holding him close. He wasn't quite awake yet and he could almost fool himself. But the arms were too muscular and the skin too tan. Instead John woke up in the arms of Sebastian Moran. At least it wasn't Moriarty.

Sebastian stirred behind him and gently ran his hand down John's side, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. "Did you sleep alright?"

"Yes, fine, thank you." John responded, slightly uncomfortable. He'd enjoyed himself the night before, even told Sebastian he wanted it to happen again. But in the light of the morning he wasn't so sure. He still wasn't sure he could trust Seb and this seemed a bit risky. Still, maybe this could be helpful in some way.

"Look John, about what you said last night. If you don't want this to happen again, it doesn't have to."

"Why wouldn't I want it?" John asked, unsettled at Seb being able to read him so easily.

"The thing is, if it comes down to a choice between you and Jim, I'm going to pick Jim." Sebastian confessed honestly.

"I know." John nodded, turning so he was facing Seb and running his fingers through his short, cropped hair. "It's your job."

"Right."

John felt slightly awkward, lying in a man's bed after what they'd done. He wasn't really ashamed of being fucked; he didn't think he had much shame left in him at this point. He just couldn't believe he had asked for it to happen again. But if the choice was a night with Sebastian or a night with Moriarty, John knew whom he'd pick.

Seb's phone dinged, cutting through the silence and dissipating the tension in the room. He climbed out of bed to go read it and John took the opportunity to get dressed. He quickly grabbed his clothes off the floor and shoved them on as hastily as possible. He watched Seb type back a quick reply before turning towards John with a wary look on his face.

"I'm to take you to see Jim."

"Great." John said sarcastically and waited while Sebastian got dressed before following him out of the room.

The walk was uncomfortable but over quickly, which was a blessing. "Why do you look so unhappy? I mean aren't you kind of used to this by now?" Seb asked when they got the Jim's door.

"To having someone's dick forcibly shoved into my body? No, I'm not used to it and I hope I never am."

"It seems like things would be easier if you just accepted –"

"You've delivered me to Jim, don't you have somewhere else to be?" John asked tersely, narrowing his eyes.

"Right." Seb waited until John opened the door before he walked away, leaving John to Moriarty's will.

The moment John was through the door, Moriarty slammed it shut and shoved John against it. His fingers danced over John's body, lifting up his clothes here and there. "Where did he touch you?" Jim hissed, starting to undo John's jeans. "Where?"

"What does it matter?" John asked as Jim inspected him like a man possessed.

"Did you enjoy it Johnny?" Jim asked, striping John quickly, fingernails scraping in his rush to get John naked.

"And if I did?"

"You fell for his act, didn't you?" Jim smirked and started biting along John's collarbone. "Don't you see, that's what he does. He makes you enjoy it so you think it's something you want. But you didn't want it before he started touching you, did you? But he made it oooohh soooo goood that you just couldn't help yourself. It's a lie John. He's playing with your head. At least I'm honest when it comes to this, it's one of the few times I am. You might come to want that."

"And if I want the lie?"

"Tell me how it felt this morning waking up in his arms. You were disgusted with yourself, weren't you? Because the lie only lasts so long."

"I said I'd rather have the lie, not _his _lie. I want the drugs because I'd rather have the illusion of Sherlock than either of you. I don't care whose arms I wake up in."

"Sorry Johnny, it's the harsh light of day. No drugs this time, just the truth. I'm sick of waiting."

"Waiting for what?" John asked, suddenly in a panic.

"For your knight in shining armor to come rescue you." John said quietly against John's ear before kissing him on the cheek. John was distracted for a moment and too late felt cold metal around his wrists. The cuffs were snapped shut and Moriarty stepped away just as Moran opened the door holding the camera.

"Lights, camera, action. It's time for your close up Johnny boy!"


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hey we're almost sort of done with this monstrosity! I think there's about two/three chapters still to go. Hopefully I will not take too long on them. Sorry about the wait. I appreciate anyone still sticking with this story. Same warning as always.

* * *

><p>"Sally." John ran to her the moment he was placed in the laundry room. "Sally please, I need to know if there's any way to get something out of the mail."<p>

"Why?"

"Please don't ask. Please, I just need to know. I need to stop something getting sent. Is there anyone with access to the mail?"

"I don't know. I think Molly is the one who sends it out."

"Molly? Who's Molly?" In all his time there, John had never met anyone called Molly, he was certain of it.

"She's Moriarty's wife."

"What? How is that possible?" John momentarily forgot why he was there and thought about how someone could possibly consent to marrying Jim Moriarty. But then consent wasn't exactly big with Jim.

"From what I've heard, she was his original pet, like from when he was a boy. They grew up together and when they were old enough, Jim freed her so they could get married."

"That doesn't sound much like him."

"Well he still owns her."

"But now she could divorce him."

Sally shot him a look. "Do you honestly believe anyone would be able to divorce someone like him? That he would let them?"

"Okay, okay, I just need to know where to find her." John conceded, needing to move things along. He was running out of time before that video was sent.

"I don't know. Moriarty keeps her well hidden. But, well, if the rumors are true and you and Moran have been getting friendly, he might be able to tell you."

John frowned at her comment, unsettled that people were talking about him. But then there wasn't much else for the slaves to do. Still, John didn't enjoy the idea that he was a source of entertainment for them. This was his fucking life, not a soap opera.

John thanked her quickly and went to go find Moran. If Sebastian was the key to Molly, then John would do whatever it took. He couldn't let that video be sent. It was Sherlock's death warrant.

XXXX

Moran didn't get much free time. All the work he did for Jim kept him fairly busy. He didn't exactly like doing nothing since he had never been much of one for relaxing. So when Jim dismissed him for the afternoon, Seb didn't really know what to do with himself. He was restless and unable to sit still.

As if someone could read his mind, entertainment in the form of John Watson slipped into his room. "John, what are you doing here?" he asked, getting to his feet. Just the sight of John made his cock twitch with want. It was rare in this place to find someone with John's spirit. Moran always found the dead look in the pet's eyes unnerving when he fucked them. It was easy enough to turn them on their stomachs and take them from behind but the same position over and over got a bit dull.

That was why John really was a godsend. Not only had he kept that fire in him after months of Moriarty trying to break him down, he was also a fantastic fuck. John stood before him, panting slightly as if he had run to him. Moran smirked at the notion. More likely John had run to avoid the guards, not because he was anxious to see Sebastian.

"I had to see you." John said and Sebastian's eyes widened in shock.

"For what? Look if Jim finds out you're here-"

"He won't. I was careful."

Seb bit his lip, knowing that little went on in the place that Jim didn't know about. He was about to protest when John slid down onto his knees. Seb groaned internally at the sight. It really was unfair for someone to look so god damn pretty on their knees. John crawled across the floor and Seb licked his lips, sitting down on the bed and spreading his legs.

John settled in between his thighs and immediately started undoing his zip. Moran's cock was showing his growing interest as John shoved his pants down and out of the way. "Seb, I need your help."

John leaned forward and gave Seb's cock a tantalizing lick. "Hmm? With what?"

"It's not a big deal." John shrugged before moving lower and taking one of Moran's balls into his mouth, running his tongue over it. He dropped it back down and kissed up the shaft. "I just need to know where Molly is."

"How do you know about that?" Seb asked, fisting his hand in John's hair and wrenching his head back.

"I just want to talk to her, that's all." John's eyes widened innocently. He lowered his head and parted his lips, letting the dick slip between his lips.

"I can't tell you."

John pulled back and off, making Moran groan in protest. "Can't or won't?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Well one requires…persuasion." John purred and took Moran back into his mouth. He took him bit by bit until he was settled with Seb firmly down his throat.

"Fuck John." Moran could feel the pet swallowing around him. Then John pulled up, hallowing out his cheeks. A few more greedy little sucks and Moran lost control, grabbing either side of John's face and shoving him down on his cock. John choked the first few times and then relaxed. Moran kept John's head steady as he thrust into the hot little mouth, skull fucking him with abandon, feeling John's nose against his abdomen, his harsh breathing and his balls slapping against John's chin.

John shoved his hands away and pulled off just as Moran was about to come. Moran almost backhanded him for it. His dick was angry and a deep red, covered in spit just like John's chin from where he had drooled. Moran was half out of his mind with the need to come.

"Tell me where I can find Molly and I'll finish you off."

Seb growled, knowing he could just use his hand. But he really wanted to come down John's throat. He scrubbed his hand over his face and knew he was thinking more with his cock than his brain. But he couldn't exactly help it.

"Fifth floor, room at the end of the hall." Seb knew he was in so much trouble. Jim would be furious with him but for now all he could think about was getting his cock back in John's mouth.

He grabbed John's arm and threw him onto the bed. Pinning his arms to either side of his head, Seb sat on his chest and placed his dick against John's lips. They parted for him and he slipped back in with a groan. He thrust his hips, fucking that gorgeous mouth as John's dark blue eyes stared up at him. He grinned down at him and watched his cock slip in and out of those red, swollen lips.

"Oh God, it's like you were made for this John." Seb moaned and thrust harder, feeling himself stabbing the back of John's throat. Jim would be angry that Seb had bruised his pet but all he cared about was marking some kind of claim on John before he was dead and broken like the rest of them.

With a few final thrusts he came, making sure John swallowed every drop. A bit of it dribbled out the corner of his mouth. Moran caught it with his thumb and pushed it into John's mouth. John suckled at it gently until Seb pulled his thumb out.

Seb rolled off John and flopped down on the bed. He had only been planning on closing his eyes for a few moments but he ended up drifting off to sleep.

He didn't wake up until half an hour later, with his wrist handcuffed to his bed. Sebastian smirked and wondered if John was playing some kind of game. But a quick glance around his room showed that John was nowhere in sight. Seb growled and pulled on the chain. All it did was dig the metal into his wrist.

Seb roared in anger, spewing out curse words as he was forced to break his thumb and slip his hand through the cuff. He slipped his underwear and a shirt on before running down the halls to where he knew Jim would be.

He knew bursting into the conference room in very little clothing would cause him merry hell but it couldn't be helped. "Jim."

"I'm busy." Jim hissed through his teeth, glowering at Seb for interrupting his meeting.

"It's John. He knows about Molly."

The briefest flash of fear came over Jim but he quickly composed himself. He stood up and smoothed out his suit. "Will you gentlemen excuse me?"

XXXX

After John had successfully handcuffed Sebastian to the bed, he made his way up to the fifth floor. He wished he had Sherlock's talent for sneaking around but then he seemed to be doing fine on his own. He remembered from Anderson's plans that there were stairs, which was much less of a risk than the lift.

He was forced to backtrack a lot whenever he heard footsteps that weren't his own. The problem with the staircase was there was no place to hide as someone passed. Instead he'd have to return to the previous level and hide until the footsteps abated.

He'd managed to find a single guard on his own and successfully knock him out. Without much time to waste, he changed into the guards uniform and made it up the final floors without getting stopped. There were too many guards for them to all know each other personally. No one paid him any attention in his current outfit.

He got to the door on the end of the hallway, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He knocked and prayed that Sebastian hadn't lied. But when a small, fragile looking girl came to the door, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who are you?"

"I need to have a word with you." John said, looking behind his shoulder, hoping for enough time.

Molly eyed him suspiciously. "Jim doesn't let people have words with me, especially not guards."

She went to close the door but John braced his arm against it. "I'm not a guard, I'm a pet. And I need your help in saving someone's life."

He heard footsteps and pushed his way into the room. Molly backed away in terror before running across the room. Her finger was hovering over the alarm as John locked the door.

"Please don't do that."

There must have been something in his look or the way he said it because Molly dropped her hand. "What is it you want from me?"

"Look, I know you have no idea who I am but I need a favor. Today Jim is going to give you a large envelope with a video inside. You can't send it out."

"You want me to disobey my husband?"

"If that video is sent out, someone will come looking for me." John swallowed around the lump in his throat. "A man I love. If he comes here, Jim will kill him. I can't let that happen so I am begging you to help me."

"Sending out the post is the only time I'm let out of here. One time a day I get to smell fresh air and feel the sun on my skin. If I help you and Jim finds out, I'll never be let out again."

"But you will have saved someone's life."

"By condemning my own."

"I know you have no idea who I am and you're loyal to Jim –"

"Loyal? You think this is loyalty? I know Jim Moriarty better than anyone. I know what he is, I know what he does to you and the other pets. And I hate it, sitting up here doing nothing. But I know what Jim is capable of and am smart enough to be frightened of him."

"Please."

"I'm sorry, I can't."

"If you won't remove the video, will you send an extra letter out? I can write it out now. Just please put it in with the rest of the post. Jim will never know."

Molly closed her eyes and sat down, suddenly very tired. "Jim sends a guard out with me. The post is checked before I'm allowed to put it in the box. If there is a letter there that shouldn't be, it will be ripped up. I'm sorry but he's thought of everything."

"There must be some way."

"There isn't." Molly stood up and went to her barred window. In the small amount of sunlight, John could see the scars on her body. Her flesh twisted and mangled with burns and deeps scars that would never truly go away. "What's your name?"

"John."

"It's nice to meet you John. It's been a long time since I've met someone. I'm sorry it's not under better circumstances. I wish I could help you, I really do. I wish I was stronger but –"

"No." John shook his head and cautiously stepped towards her. He placed his hand on her cheek and she flinched, as if unused to a delicate touch. The sight almost broke John's heart. Slowly, she pressed against the palm of his hand. Up close, John could see a scar running through her lip and a larger one hidden under her fringe. "I have been here almost four months and I can hardly stand it. I cannot imagine a lifetime of being Moriarty's pet. You are brave Molly, you are so brave."

Molly stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to John's. Her lips were soft against his, just a small bit of pressure and then she pulled away. "I'm sorry." Molly blushed in embarrassment. "It's been a long time since anyone showed me any kindness."

John wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as tightly as he dared. She went boneless against him and he felt her shake as she began to cry. "I'm sorry." He whispered over and over into her hair.

He was so overwhelmed in trying to comfort her, lost in her grief that he didn't hear the door being unlocked. He didn't notice there was anyone else in the room until they were being yanked apart. Jim had Molly by her hair as she whimpered in pain. John tried to help her but was being held back by Moran.

"Get him OUT of here." Jim said through clenched teeth.

"Stop!" John thrashed in Moran's arms. "What are you going to do to her?"

"I'll deal with both of you later." Jim said, throwing Molly down onto the floor and slamming the door shut behind them. John heard it lock behind them. "No!" he continued to struggle as Moran led him away.

XXXX

"Did he hurt you?" Jim asked, kneeling beside Molly.

"No." Molly shook her head emphatically. "I'm fine Jim."

Jim put his hand on her arm, his grip uncomfortably tight. "He touched you. How dare he touch you."

"It was nothing Jim."

"That's wasn't nothing." Jim hollered, backhanding her. Molly touched her stinging face, a shaking sob making its way past her lips. Jim snarled and gripped either side of her face. "Present yourself to me."

"Jim, no." Molly whispered, openly weeping.

"Do it."

He let go of her and went to stand by the window in wait. Molly slowly got to her feet and began to strip in front of her full-length mirror. She closed her eyes as soon as she was naked, unable to look at herself. She swallowed nervously as Jim made his way over. His fingertips traced her scars and she sucked in a breath, holding it.

"You're like a work of art Molly." Jim whispered against her neck. "I've sculpted and shaped you into perfection."

"This isn't perfection." Molly whispered back.

"I've worked hard on you Molly. Years and years I've spent in creating this masterpiece on your skin. Look at my work Molly."

Molly forced her eyes open as they met Jim's. His usual cold, blank eyes were alive as he looked over his handiwork.

"I know you wish you were dead." Jim pressed his lips to Molly's shoulder. "But my work isn't finished yet Molly. There's still so much of you left untouched. Do you remember when you lost us our son?"

"Yes." Molly nodded, recalling crying with joy when she'd had a miscarriage.

"Had you given me a child, I could have continued my work on them."

"I'm sorry."

"Perhaps we should try again." Jim ran his hand over Molly's stomach.

Molly's thoughts were far away as her husband pushed her down onto the bed. She thought of the seaside of Ireland where she'd been born. Her life before her mother had been unable to pay the rent and had sold her daughter to cover her debts. As Jim pushed inside her, she closed her eyes and imagined the sea crashing against the rocks. The feel of grass between her toes. The safe, warm feeling she'd had when her mother had brushed her hair. Of a kind stranger and his gentle lips against hers, his warm body embracing her. A man like that she would give herself willingly to. A man she desperately wanted to help but instead lied there worthlessly as Jim thrust into her.

When Jim finished, coating her inside with his seed, she prayed it wouldn't result in a baby. He'd been trying ever since they'd lost the last one. The only visitors Molly got besides Jim were doctors, testing to make sure she wasn't defective. A very large part of her hoped she was. She kept very still as Jim forced her to lay with him, pressed against him as he stroked her hair. "I won't allow you to die until either my work is complete or you give me a child."

She knew Jim was a man who kept his promises.

XXXX

"You've got me in a lot of fucking trouble John." Sebastian informed him as they stood together in the lift, headed towards the basement.

John didn't reply, just kept facing forward. Moran lifted his arm and punched John, hard. John fell to the floor and braced himself to be hit again.

"I don't like being in trouble with the boss. Knew you were going to be a problem."

"Then help me escape." John said from the floor.

"Have you lost your mind?" Seb grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him up so he was suspended, his feet not quite touching the floor. "If I did that I'd be in even more shit than I already am."

"I know you want Jim. Right now I'm your biggest competition. You help me leave and I'll be out of your hair."

"He won't stop looking for you. He's got a piece of paper that says you belong to him, see? Jim won't give you up. He'll track you down and force you back kicking and screaming, but he will get you back. And I'll be out of a job for helping you."

"I have a friend who works in the government. If you help me, I won't be back."

"But see I've still got this little problem of me helping you resulting in my getting canned. So it's not going to happen John and don't you dare take me for a sucker ever again. That's the last time I close my eyes with you in the room."

"It's not my fault you underestimated me."

Moran slammed John against the wall of the lift. "Well I won't be making that mistake again." He sneered. The doors to the lift opened and Moran chucked John out. "Make sure he gets caged and put the ankle restraint on him, this one's dangerous."

Defeated, John was taken to his cage and restrained. As he lied in the cold, unable to reach his blanked in the corner, he could only hope that envelope would never reach Sherlock.

XXXX

When the envelope arrived, much the same as the first one, Sherlock thought about throwing it out. Something stopped him however, a strange niggling feeling. Why had they sent another one? The first one had been sufficient in proving the point. It couldn't be the same video again; there would be no point to it.

Somewhat reluctantly, Sherlock made his way over to his laptop and put the DVD in. He kept his face stoic as the film started up, keeping his emotions at bay. It took a moment for the camera to stop shaking and when it did, it stopped at a close up on John. Sherlock swallowed with some difficulty, already unable to remain passive. Just seeing John was enough to cause his emotions to bubble to the surface.

"Hello sexy!" A voice spoke from behind the camera. There was a rhythmic movement to the camera and Sherlock realized John was being fucked by whoever was speaking. "You didn't think we'd forgotten about you, did you Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes widened as the strange, soft Irish voice used his name.

"You know, at one time I thought you were a worthy opponent for me. The fun we could have had. But you're weak because of him." A hand reached out and caressed John's face. "Now I commend you on your excellent taste. Johnny here is a fantastic shag." The camera moved down John's body, past his flaccid penis, to his anus. Sherlock was forced to watch as the speaker's cock thrust in and out of John. He looked away out of embarrassment until the person began speaking again.

"It's beautiful the way his body takes it. But then you know all about that, don't you Sherlock. All the little noises he makes, the warmth of his skin, his hot, wet, tight little hole, so accepting. He was made to be used, to be fucked. A worthless little piece of arse. You just couldn't help having a taste, could you?"

John growled menacingly and the camera moved back to his face in time to capture John being slapped. John's hands were bound above his head so he couldn't retaliate but everything in his expression said he wanted to.

"Now pay attention Sherlock because you weren't before. Had you been paying attention you would have known that the last video I sent was a ruse, a clever one but a ruse nonetheless. Poor Johnny was drugged, which someone intelligent would have recognized from his bloodshot eyes or his mannerism. But instead you were crippled by emotions. It's a shame Sherlock because you could have been _so much more_."

"Well Sherlock right about now you're probably wondering why I bothered to send you the video in the first place. It was a test, darling, to see if you were as smart as you seemed. You failed, by the way, in case you didn't guess that already. And Johnny here has paid the price of your stupidity. You see if you'd figured out the truth from that video, you would have come to save him a long time ago. Instead you left him to me, and while I've taken great pleasure in your absence, I don't think Johnny here has appreciated it. He's been waiting for you Sherlock, waiting for you to come save him. Don't disappoint him."

"No, Sherlock you can't!" It was all John got out before the man slapped his hand over John's mouth. John kept talking, his words mumbled again the hand.

"Ah, ah, ah, I don't think so Johnny. We don't want to give Sherlock the wrong idea. Come on Sherlock, save your pet and prove how clever you are. You failed the first test but you won't fail this one, will you? Not with John counting on you. We'll be here, waiting."

The speaker came, pulling out so his ejaculate went all over John. Then the camera moved back to John's face, who was looking away, ashamed and humiliated. It was the last thing Sherlock saw before the screen went dark.

Sherlock barely made it to the rubbish bin before he was throwing up into it. He emptied the contents of his stomach, which wasn't much, and then threw up some of his stomach acid. When he finished, he lied on the floor and stared up at the ceiling trying to compose himself. It was nearly impossible with those images in his head.

When he could manage, he got back into his chair and forced himself to watch both videos again. He took in everything, any clue that might lead him to John. He watched them over and over until he was certain he hadn't missed a thing, ignoring the sick feeling it gave him. Placing them back in the envelope, Sherlock got dressed for the first time in weeks.

He called Lestrade from the taxi and asked him to meet him over at Mycroft's.

"Oh, um, I'm actually already there."

"Perfect."

When Sherlock arrived, Mycroft's pet showed him to the study right away. Greg and Mycroft were looking over something when Sherlock walked in. "What is it I can do for you Sherlock?" Mycroft asked without looking up from his desk.

"You have to do everything and anything in your power to rescue John."

"Why the change of heart?" Mycroft asked, finally looking at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

"I've been sent videos."

Mycroft held out his hand for them expectantly.

"They're very explicit." Sherlock warned him, not sure he wanted anyone else to see them.

"I'm sure we can handle it."

"There's nothing on here that you can use. You said you knew who had John. I just need you to get him back."

Mycroft walked around his desk and came to stand in front of his younger brother. "How do you know what is and isn't of use to me?"

"Fine, I will hand them over if you promise me you will save John and soon."

"There is already a rescue team assembled. They leave in two days time."

"How did you –"

"Gregory and I had a feeling you would come to your senses. Now, the videos, if you'd be so kind."

With reluctance, Sherlock handed them over. "Please." Sherlock said quietly. "I need him back."

Mycroft placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze for reassurance. "We will."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry again about the wait. I suck.

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><p>"Jim, you're absolutely sure about this?"<p>

"You ask me that one more time Moran and I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

XXXX

John was asleep in his cage, his leg chained. He had been like that for the last day and a half. He hadn't been allowed to get up or move, which meant he was currently sitting in a pile of his own piss and shit. He kept his head pressed to the floor of his cage and tried his best not to breathe through his nose.

"John." Someone whispered his name but he didn't bother looking up; at least not until his cage was opened.

"What do you want?" John asked when he tilted his head and saw Moran unchaining him.

"We've got to go." Moran took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He shoved a pile of clothes into John's arms. "Get dressed."

"Where are we going?" John raised a skeptical eyebrow and didn't move.

"You can ask questions later, we only have a few minutes while the guards change. So hurry the fuck up."

John, who was glad to get out of his soiled outfit, gratefully took the clothes and began to strip. He left them in a pile in his cage and slipped on the clean ones. He would have appreciated a shower but apparently they didn't have time for that.

Moran headed towards the lift, leaving John to catch up. John checked to make sure he had Sherlock's letter before he ran after him. A few of the pets that had trouble sleeping were watching him, their eyes pleading for him to release them. It was a look he remembered well from his years of being at the pound. The moment the lift doors closed, John turned towards him. "Now that we have a moment, mind telling me what's going on?"

"I'm getting you out." Moran responded simply, pushing the button to make the lift stop. He reached up and opened the hatch on the top, using the railing to hoist himself up and through. He reached back down and held out his hand for John.

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain." John said obstinately, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We don't have time for this. Someone will notice the lift has stopped any moment now. You want to get out of here or not?" Moran asked, beckoning John forward.

John took a moment to debate and then against his better judgment, he reached for Moran's hand.

"Hope you're good at climbing." Moran said as he started up the steel rope holding up the lift. They both had on thick black gloves that helped with them climbing. It was slow going but John kept up as best he could.

He was so busy concentrating on not falling that he almost didn't hear the lift start up. The cacophony of sound was earsplitting as the lift started its ascent upwards. "Moran!" John shouted over the noise, the lift getting dangerously close.

"Drop onto it." Moran called back.

John let go and felt the weirdest sensation of dropping and moving upwards at the same time. He had to crouch down to keep from falling over, his balance somewhat off from the unsettling fall. Moran dropped down next to him and they rode on top of the lift.

"What do we do if it doesn't stop?" John shouted, his hair whipping around as they traveled higher and higher, the ceiling of the elevator shaft coming up quicker than he would have liked.

"We'll be fine." Moran assured him with a hand on his arm.

John closed his eyes and prayed that he would live. He couldn't die now that he was so close to getting out, to getting home. He didn't know how long it would take Sherlock to find him but he hoped it would take a few more days so he could get to Sherlock first.

"We're not stopping!" John hollered, the roar of his voice echoing through the shaft. He could barely hear the loud beating of his own heart over the noise of it.

"Get down!" Moran shoved John's head down and covered his body with his own larger one. They huddled together, John doing his best to be brave, until the lift slowed and finally stopped. They broke apart and looked around. Had they been standing they would have died from impact.

"Well that was much faster." Moran grinned maniacally at John and kicked the lift hatch open. He jumped down and caught John as he did the same. He pushed John against the side of the lift and crushed their mouths together. John let out a little yelp of surprise.

They broke apart, panting, as Moran lifted his arm to check his wristwatch. "And we still have three minutes to spare." He smiled triumphantly.

"Why did you do that?" John asked indignantly.

"It was my last chance." Moran shrugged. "We gotta go Johnny boy. Tight schedule."

"No." John shook his head.

"No?" Moran turned back to him with an amused look on his face.

"I'm not taking another step until you explain why you changed your mind." John stood his ground, holding the lift doors open as he waited.

"We really don't have time for this." Moran checked his watch again.

"Make time for it."

Sebastian growled in the back of his throat and slapped his hand over John's, grabbing it and pulling him away. "You're trouble Watson. If you stay here you're going to continue being trouble. Believe me, as good of a fuck as you are, you're not worth the problems you cause for me. Jim made a comment the other day that if I don't keep you in line, he'd have me fired. So it seems to me that either you stay and keep fucking shit up for me, or you go. Either way I'm going to end up getting fired."

"So what does it matter to you? If you weren't helping me right now, you could have more time. Jim could change his mind."

"People thought he'd get bored of you after a week. Didn't change his mind about that, did he?" Moran tugged John along the corridor, keeping one eye on his watch.

"I still don't understand why you'd want to help me. You won't gain anything from it."

Moran stopped walking and pushed John against the wall, trapping him in with his arms. He leaned in, his lips brushing against John's ear. "I know you think I lied to you about everything. When I told you I liked you, that wasn't a lie. You're really something Watson. Mostly you're a pain in my arse, but more than that, you're a fighter. I might not care about much but I respect the hell out of that. That's why I'm doing this."

"Thank you." John said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet kid. We still got to get to the stairs before the sprinklers go off."

Moran checked the time again and dragged John down the hallway. They took off running the moment the alarm sounded. "Come on, come on." Moran shouted, picking up the pace.

Sebastian wrenched open the door to the stairs and ushered John through. The door shut just as the water went off, dowsing the hallway with water. "Why the sprinklers?" John asked between gasping breaths.

"Help obstruct us from the cameras. Come on, we've got to get down to the second floor as quickly as possible."

Together they hurried downwards, leaping down the stairs as quickly as possible. "I'd say we've got about six minutes before they turn off the water. So hurry your arse up."

When they got to the second floor doorway, Seb stopped for a moment. "Put your hood up."

John obeyed and slipped his hood over his head. Seb nodded in approval. "You've got to sprint down this hallway as fast as you can. The floor will be wet so don't slip. We've only got another two minutes."

The moment the door was open they took off running. John gripped his toes against the soles of his shoes to try and get some traction against the slippery floor. His heart hammered in his chest and his muscles were screaming at him after months of inactivity. He pushed through the pain, thinking only of Sherlock and if he managed to escape, he would save his life.

The corridor seemed to stretch forever as John got more soaked and his clothes began to weigh him down. They were almost there when two guards rounded the corner. John tried to turn back and ended up slipping, falling to the ground and sliding across the floor. He knocked into one of the guards, sending him tumbling to his feet.

Sebastian ran up and collided with the other guard, tackling him to the ground. John sat up just in time to see Seb knock the guard out with a well-aimed punch. There was an awful sound of bones crunching as the man's head hit the floor hard.

"We can't leave these two here. I'll take care of them, you keep going."

"But I don't know where I'm going."

"Round the corner, second door on the right, the window has a balcony. If you hang from it, you should be able to drop down without breaking anything. Now go, you've only got another thirty seconds to get inside the door before the sprinklers should be shut off."

John nodded and began running. His feet were unstable beneath him and as he rounded the corner, he slid into the wall. His shoulder stung and he held it as he ran, making his way to the second door. He didn't let himself breathe until he was safely inside.

It was a relief to get out from under the constant water raining down from the ceiling. The room he had slipped into was mostly empty. John couldn't help wondering what the hell went on in this giant place. Maybe when he got back home, he would ask Mycroft. He would probably know something like that.

He checked the letter in his pocket just one last time. It had gotten a bit wet; some of the ink bleeding into the page but mostly it was still intact. John folded it back up carefully before making his way to the window. It was stiff from years of disuse, so John struggled to lift it up, pushing it as the splintered wood dug into his hands. The window rattled and squeaked as John shoved it up enough that he could fit through.

The balcony was small, just room enough for one person. John climbed over the railing and stood on the ledge. If he held onto the bottom of the balcony, the drop wouldn't be too terrible. He didn't have time to think about it, he lowered himself down until he was just barely hanging off it. Closing his eyes, he let go, feeling the wind rushing past him as gravity pulled him down to the Earth below.

He landed on his back with a thud, wince slightly at his stinging tailbone. With newfound energy, he hauled himself to his feet and started running, trying to recall where that hole in the fence was.

_I'm going to make it, _John thought as he saw the hole in the distance. _Sherlock, I'm coming home. _

That's when the bullet pierced his shoulder.

XXXX

The moment John was out of sight, Moran sprinted back down the hallway to the lift. He pressed the button for the top floor and tapped his foot impatiently as the damn thing went so slowly. He pushed his way through the doors before they'd even opened all the way and started down the hall.

In the room seven stories up from where John was currently falling out a window, Moran found a sniper rifle already positioned at the window. He lied down on the ground and placed his eye so he could see through the scope. In the distance he could see the figure of John Watson running as fast as his small legs could carry him. Moran almost chuckled at how adorable it was.

_Not his heart. I'm saving that. _Jim's words echoed in his ear. He positioned the rifle slightly to the left, took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger as he exhaled. John Watson crumpled to the ground and Sebastian Moran smiled at a job well done. He had always been someone who enjoyed their work. He could only hope he'd get to see the bullet wound at some point and admire it up close.

He dismantled the rifle and carried it down with him, heading to go meet Jim and tell him everything had worked according to plan.

XXXX

When John awoke, it was to excruciating pain. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. His entire left side felt like it was on fire and he could move. Starting to panic, John tried to sit up but couldn't even lift his head off the pillow.

"Paralyzing agent, something of my own design. You won't be able to move for a couple of hours." Moriarty's voice came from a corner of the room.

John opened his mouth to speak but it seemed that he couldn't even do that. He was completely immobilized. He stared up in fear as Moriarty approached him, knowing he had no way to defend himself.

"Aww pet, you've been such a load of trouble. I probably should have had you put down by now." Moriarty stroked his hand gently over John's cheek. John instinctively flinched away but it didn't do any good. "I have my own chamber here for bad puppies. Probably should have sent you there a long time ago."

John could hear his heart, which had been hooked up to a monitor, begin to race in panic. He could just see Moriarty's awful smirk before the man bent down to whisper in John's ear.

"But you're just too… interesting." Jim licked the shell of John's ear. "And a fantastic fuck. I had plans for you Johnny boy. So many plans and you had to fuck them all up. Eventually I had to improvise. You're a stubborn one John and insolent to a fault. It's no wonder Holmes used you and then chucked you out like the rubbish you are. Because you're not good for anything else. You're just a plaything, a warm body meant for nasty little things. Most pets are only good for a few things but you, you're even more worthless than that. You can't do anything on your own. Couldn't save your sister all those years ago, couldn't make Sherlock fall in love with you, couldn't keep him from having his way with you and then tossing you aside. Did you think he was in love with you? Why would he be? He hasn't even bothered to come and save you yet because you're nothing to him. Hell, you couldn't even escape this place with help!"

"Stop." John croaked out, hating himself for how weak he sounded.

"Oh you don't like hearing the truth? Does it hurt knowing how pathetic you are? How utterly you've failed?"

John looked away, trying to tune out Moriarty's poisonous words. His eyes landed on Sebastian, standing in the corner with his arms crossed. "Seb please." John begged him. "Help."

Moriarty guffawed in John's face, holding his sides from laughing so hard. "You think he's going to help you?" Jim wiped away tears of mirth from his eyes. "Who do you think shot you? Seb is loyal to me and he does as I say. He's not going to help you. He's quite the little actor, our Sebastian. He really had you going there."

John closed his eyes, feeling broken and alone. He couldn't move, the searing pain was too much and he had no one to trust. For the first time since John had been inside Moriarty's lair, he cried. Silent tears fell, streaking his cheeks, leaving him unable to wipe them away.

"I just wanted you to know how hopeless it is. You will never escape John Watson. The only way out of here for you is death."

XXXX

John was finally put on painkillers, so much so that his brain felt fuzzy. He had no doubt Moriarty wanted him as incapacitated as possible.

John hadn't cried since that first time he broke but he sure as hell felt like it. No one was coming to save him and at the moment he couldn't even save himself. He managed to sit up enough that he could examine the scar on his left shoulder. He brought his hand up and lightly traced the angry, red, mangled flesh. It was twisted and ugly and John knew no one would want him now. No one wanted a broken pet. Sherlock certainly wouldn't want him anymore.

He made a decision that he was, at the very least, going to get out of bed. He put his right foot down on the floor until it felt solid and then his left. But the moment he tried to stand, his left leg went stiff and he crumpled to the ground. He cried out in pain loud enough that Moriarty's in house doctor, the one who had pulled the bullet out of him, came running.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked, putting John's arm around her shoulders and lifting him back onto the bed.

"My leg. There's something wrong with my leg."

"No there isn't." Dr. Sawyer reassured him, putting the covers back over him.

"Well it bloody well hurts!" he shouted, a jolt of pain making its way up his left leg.

"Are you sure?" She asked, coming over to the other side of the bed and taking a look.

"It might be from when I jumped out the window."

"Jumped – oh god. Alright, I'll order some tests and we'll take a look."

She brought him a glass of water and then left him alone for awhile. His pain medication kicked in and he involuntarily went back to sleep for a short time.

When he finally regained consciousness, there was no sign of Dr. Sawyer. In fact there was no sign of anyone. John could hear commotion outside his room and what sounded like people running up and down the hallway.

"Oh what now?" John grumbled, quickly finding his shoes and pulling them on so he wouldn't be barefoot before limping his way over to the window. Outside he saw what looked like several military tanks and vehicles parked on Moriarty's lawn. Confused, John went to the door and wrenched it open. He had to hobble down the hall, putting his arm on the wall to steady himself.

As he went he passed by guards that were unconscious in the hallway. With some difficulty he bent down and took one of their guns off of them. He felt better having it, like he could possibly defend himself. He didn't have much of a chance without it with his damn leg acting up.

He headed to the lift and was just in time to see a group of the pets he recognized from the basement getting off of it. Sally was one of the last ones out and he pulled her aside.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. Someone came down and freed us. It looks like someone brought an entire army. Someone finally went after Moriarty."

"Have you seen him?" John asked, gripping the gun a bit tighter just thinking about the man.

"No and I don't plan to. I'm getting the hell out of here. You'd better do the same."

"You go ahead, I'll be right behind." John nodded at her and got into the empty lift. He had one more stop to make before he could leave. He pressed the button for the fifth floor and waited while the lift rose up.

His leg was killing him by the time he made it to the end of the hall. He leaned heavily against Molly's door and knocked. "Molly, it's John, open up."

"What's going on?" Molly called through the door. "Who are those people outside?"

"I don't know but we have to go now. I think we're better off with them than we are staying here."

"I don't know…" she replied, her voice quivering.

"Molly, I'll protect you, I promise. No one is going to hurt you again. Please come with me. I can't leave until I know you're safe."

"Isn't that sweet." A voice said dryly. John whipped around and found Moran standing behind him. John raised the gun, his left hand no longer shaking, as he pointed it right at where Moran's heart should be if he had one. John swallowed hard and clicked off the safety. Moran smirked at him. "Are you going to shoot me John?"

"You shot me." John said steadily. "It only seems fair."

"I don't think you will." Sebastian took a step towards John.

"Stay back. You're not getting to Molly." John said as threateningly as he could in a hospital gown.

"Are you sure you know how to use that thing?"

"Let's see." John squeezed the trigger but wasn't ready for the recoil of the weapon. Instead of hitting Moran in the heart, the bullet went down and landed in his stomach. John stared in shock as Moran dropped to his knees, clutching his belly as blood poured out of it.

The door behind him open and John turned to see Molly with her eyes wide. "You shot him." She said incredulously.

"I had to." John looked down at the gun guiltily.

"We should go." She said walking around Moran and John followed her. Molly didn't speak again until the lift doors were closed. "You came for me, why?"

"I wasn't going to just leave you." John gave her a small smile and took her hand.

The lift suddenly stopped, the lights and power going off so the two of them were pitched into darkness. "Damn it." John swore, pressing buttons and hoping it would turn back on.

"John – " Molly said with worry.

"Just a minute." He said putting his fingers between the lift doors and tried pulling them apart. Getting the idea, Molly came over to help and together they managed to get them open. They were about two feet down from the closest floor. John helped Molly up and then pulled himself up after her.

They were on the second floor and together they made their way to the main staircase. The closer they got, the clearer they could hear voices. John instantly recognized Moriarty's but it took him a moment the place the other one. _Mycroft!_ John thought with glee. He never thought he'd be so happy to see Sherlock's older brother in his life.

_Sherlock must be here! _John thought excitedly, scanning the first floor for any sign of that dark, curly hair.

"I'll ask you again, where is John Watson?" Mycroft's voice echoed through the large front foyer.

"John, John, that name doesn't ring any bells."

"Give it up Moriarty. Any influence and power you had is gone." Mycroft calmly reached into his front jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Here you find all twenty-seven political men and women you had under your influence have signed the order for your operation to be shut down."

"What!" Moriarty screeched, grabbing the paper from Mycroft and looking it over. "Under what charges?"

"Cruelty and sexual assault against pets under your ownership."

"What? There's no way you can prove –"

"On the contrary." Mycroft sniffed loftily. "You got too clever for your own good."

"No such thing." Moriarty sneered and shook his head.

"I bet you thought it was terribly clever, sending my brother those videos to torment him. Unfortunately it was also your undoing. My brother, as well as Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, have both positively identified the man you are – ahem – engaging in sexual intercourse with as none other than John Watson. This is the paperwork you filled out to have John Watson as your new pet, is it not?" Mycroft retrieved another piece of paper from his suit jacket.

Moriarty's face paled and all hints of his self-confidence seemed to dissipate rapidly.

"Also twenty five of the men and women you had bribed have positively identified it as your voice on the camera. I'm afraid you are quite out of options Jim." Mycroft smiled condescendingly. Two of the soldiers stepped forward, ready to put Moriarty in handcuffs.

Moriarty took off running, scrambling up the stairs right for Molly and John. Molly gasped and stood behind John, hiding herself from view. John did his best to stand in front of her and shield her but unluckily, his leg decided to give out, buckling underneath him. As he fell, the gun dropped from his hand.

John cried out, getting Moriarty's attention. Molly gasped but Jim hardly saw her at all. He grabbed John by his collar and hauled him into view. He pulled a gun from inside his suit and held it against John's head. He had his arm around John's throat, choking him as they moved together.

"You want John Watson?" Moriarty called down to Mycroft. "What are you going to tell Sherlock if I put a bullet in his pet's head?"

"It's no use Jim, you won't get away." Mycroft replied as if he didn't care in the slightest.

"I'll do it." Jim screamed, clicking off the safety and pushing the gun against John's temple. "I'll fucking kill him."

"Jim, think logically about this. There's nowhere for you to go. Killing John will just bring more trouble down on you."

"Well maybe I want trouble."

John couldn't breathe; his head was spinning. He clawed at the arm around his neck but couldn't get it off and whenever he tried, Jim just held on tighter. The two soldiers down below had drawn their weapons but couldn't get a clear shot with John blocking most of Moriarty's body. John was in some much pain he couldn't even think about fighting Moriarty off.

"Looks like I'm going to have you put down after all." Jim hissed against John's ear. Jim straightened up slightly to address Mycroft. "Tell little brother I'm very disappointed we didn't get to talk. I would have liked to have seen his face when I kill his little doggie."

John closed his eyes and just waited for it all to be over. He didn't think he'd mind dying so much, in fact he thought it might be kind of peaceful. The only thing he would regret would be never seeing Sherlock again. Never getting a chance to fix things between them. He managed to reach into his shoe and pull out the letter, clutching it to his chest as he waited for Moriarty to pull the trigger.

A shot rang out but John didn't feel anything. Instead he felt Moriarty's grip loosen from around his neck as he dropped to the floor. Peering over the ledge, it didn't look like either of the soldiers had fired their weapons.

He glanced over and saw little Molly with the gun John had dropped in her hands. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking. John used the railing to get to his feet and slowly made his way over to her. "It's okay." He said softly, taking the gun from her and putting it down on the ground. "It's okay."

"John, I – I – "

John quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Her whole body was trembling as John stroked her hair soothingly. The soldiers hurried up the stairs to check over Moriarty.

"He was going to kill you." Molly mumbled against John's shoulder.

"I know." John cradled the back of her head and rocked her gently. "You saved me Molly. You saved me."

"I was just praying I wouldn't hit you on accident. I've never fired a gun before."

"Neither had I until today. That was a really good shot then." He chuckled and Molly nervously joined in, covering her mouth as if embarrassed. "Come on." John said, putting his arm around her waist. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Molly nodded and helped him descend the stairs. "Mycroft." John acknowledged him when they were face to face.

"John." He gave him a small smile in return. "There's a helicopter outside that will transport you and Mrs. Moriarty back to London."

"Thank you." John said, breathing a sigh of relief to be going home.

"Oh and John." Mycroft called before they'd taken two steps towards the door. "It seems you might be needing this."

Mycroft handed over his umbrella and John nodded in thanks, using it as a cane as they made their way outside. John thought he had never seen the sky looking so beautiful as it did at that moment.

XXXX

John waited until Molly had fallen asleep, resting against the window and breathing gently, before he asked Mycroft the one question he had been dying to.

"Mycroft, where is Sherlock?"

Mycroft, who had been staring out the window silently, turned his head towards John with a strange look on his face. It was certainly not one John had ever seen and he had known the man practically his whole life.

"I'm sorry John. He didn't want to see you."

"Oh." John tried to hide his disappointment. The helicopter was just coming in sight of London and John thought it should have been the happiest moment of his life, being back home. But as they flew over the city, all John could wonder was if he'd have a home to go back to.

"You're a free man now, John Watson, not beholden to anyone. You and Mrs. Moriarty."

"Don't call her that." John said through clenched teeth.

"Apologies." Mycroft bowed his head in something resembling contrition. "Your life is your own now John. I hope you intend to use it wisely."

"What will happen to Molly? Will anyone come after her for killing him?" John glanced at the frail looking woman slumped in her seat. His stomach twisted at the thought of her in prison.

"Oh certainly not." Mycroft assured him. "I'll see to it that no one comes after her."

"Thank you." John told him sincerely, gathering Molly in his arms so that her head was pillowed against his good shoulder. He felt an overwhelming need to protect her, knowing she had seen enough evil for a lifetime. He gently kissed the top of her head, finding comfort in her easy breathing, wishing he could find it in him to sleep as well. He was exhausted and his body felt ready to give out. But for whatever reason he didn't want to go to sleep.

Mainly because he didn't want to wake up and discover it had all been a dream. He could only hope that when he did finally succumb to sleep, he wouldn't wake up back in that hospital bed, completely as Moriarty's mercy. So he held on tightly to Molly, using her to ground him in reality.

Besides, if this were a dream, Sherlock surely would have been there.


	11. Chapter 11

Molly and John sat together at a table in Speedy's, waiting. John could feel his stomach tying itself into knots and the idea that Sherlock was right next door. He was so close it made John's entire body feel like it was tingling. He could tell Molly was equally as nervous so he reached across the table to take her hand in his. He did it as much for her as he did for himself, needing a bit of courage. She gave him a small smile and his hand a squeeze.

Molly took a look around the shop and seemed uncomfortable in the café, surrounded by so many people. All the noise was making her cringe. John felt a pang of sympathy for her and thought maybe he should have made the meeting place somewhere else. He was just about to suggest they leave and go to the park instead when Molly spoke for the first time all day.

"So what's she like then, this Mrs. Hudson?" Molly bit her bottom lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It made John squeeze her hand a bit tighter.

"Oh she's lovely." John assured her. "She used to be a pet herself so she won't mistreat you in any way. Besides, she's an older woman and very understanding. You'll be well looked after."

"What about you?"

"Well, if things go as they should, hopefully I'll be living just upstairs from you. We'll see each other all the time." John smiled and gently ran his thumb over her wrist, feeling her pulse. Molly smiled back a little hesitantly, still unused to affectionate touches. "You're gonna be fine Molly."

"Are you?" Molly asked quietly, her concern evident on her face. He couldn't believe she could manage to be concerned for him after everything she'd been through. It made him want to wrap her up in a giant hug.

"I guess that all depends on what happens next."

As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson entered the café and waved to John. He gave her an emphatic wave back and got to his feet to greet her. He was hardly out of his chair when Mrs. Hudson was attacking him with a strong hug. "Oh John." She sighed affectionately. "Things haven't been the same since you left."

"I've missed you too Mrs. H." he hugged her back, unable to help the wide smile spreading across his face. She smelled of tea and cakes and Baker street. John buried his face in her shoulder and took a moment to remind himself of home. Then he remembered Molly and pulled away. "Mrs. Hudson, this is Molly, Molly, Mrs. Hudson."

"Hello." Molly gave a small, shy wave.

"Pleased to meet you." Mrs. Hudson's face fell. "Oh dear, don't drink that sludge. Come next door and I'll make you a real cup of coffee or tea if you'd prefer. What they serve here is ghastly. I only ever come in for the scratch cards myself." Mrs. Hudson linked her arm through Molly's and led her out. Molly turned back to John with a somewhat bewildered expression and John couldn't help chuckling. He followed them outside and into 221.

"Now then, why don't you tell me all about yourself." Mrs. Hudson patted the girl's hand and led her into flat A. John looked up the seventeen steps to flat B and could hear Sherlock's violin cascading music from the flat above.

"John?" Molly called out, stopping at the door to Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"You go on." He gave her a nod of encouragement before turning his attention back upstairs. "Mrs. Hudson will show you around and get you settled in. I'm just popping up to see Sherlock for a bit."

Molly played with the ends of her ponytail nervously. "You're certain you'll be alright? It's just the Jim said some things, about Sherlock, never outright but he implied – "

"Whatever Jim Moriarty told you was a vicious lie." John clenched his hands into fists, furious just from hearing the name.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." Molly shook her head and blushed from embarrassment. John hurried to her and took her hands in his.

"It's fine." He told her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I like having someone to look out for me."

"Me too."

John bent down and kissed the backs of both her hands before pulling away. The moment his foot was placed on the first step, all thoughts of Molly left him. Sherlock was just a mere seventeen steps away. John's feet had never felt so heavy, wondering how he would be received when he got up to flat B.

Taking a deep breath, he took another step and then another.

_Sixteen… _John held his breath, clutching the railing as if it were the only thing holding him up.

_Fifteen… _Sherlock's music was melancholy, almost a bitter tune that put John's teeth on edge. Why was he playing such sad music?

_Fourteen… _

_Thirteen…_

_Twelve… _The music stopped for a moment and John almost wondered if Sherlock had heard him on the steps. Perhaps one of them had squeaked without him knowing it. But then there was no way Sherlock could know it was him, could he?

_Eleven…_

_Ten…_

_Nine… _The music began again and John breathed a sigh of relief. He could see the door to 221B, the glowing light under the door. He was so close; he could see Sherlock in his mind, visualizing him perfectly. Had he changed at all in the last six months? What would he saw when he saw John?

_Eight…_

_Seven…_

_Six… _John's stomach did flips as he got closer. He was more than half way there and yet it would be so easy to turn around and go have tea with Molly and Mrs. Hudson. If Sherlock had wanted to see him, he would have come and rescued him surely?

_Five… _John felt Sherlock's letter in his jacket pocket and it gave him the courage to continue on.

_Four…_

_Three…_

_Two… _Nearly there. John swallowed around the lump in his throat.

_One…_

When he reached the landing, he shut his eyes and let the music crash over him. Sherlock had just finished playing violin the first time they had ever kissed. It was such a long time ago. Would Sherlock want to kiss him again? Would he be able to let Sherlock in after everything that had happened between them?

His heart was thumping so loudly in his chest he was certain Sherlock could hear it through the door. Tentatively, he reached forward and turned the handle, unsurprised to find it unlocked. They had never locked the door when he used to live there and he was glad some things hadn't changed.

He pushed it open and saw Sherlock at the window, staring out of it as he played. Just seeing the back of him in one of his dressing gowns was enough to make John's breath catch in his throat. Six months of waiting and an entire lifetime of wanting and he was just footsteps away.

He let out a shuddering breath before he spoke. "I thought maybe you'd had a case."

Sherlock dropped his violin and it fell to the floor with a _clang_. He pivoted quickly to face John, his eyes wide with surprise.

John rubbed his hands together nervously, his palms beginning to clam up. "I thought maybe that's why you didn't come. Lestrade wasn't there either so I thought you must have been doing something terribly important. I guess not." John tried for good humor but the smile didn't quite make it onto his face.

"John –" Sherlock's lip quivered and he brought his hand up to hide it, turning his face away.

"Why Sherlock?" John took a step into the room and heard Sherlock inhale sharply. "Why didn't you come for me?"

Sherlock bent down and picked up his violin off the floor. He placed it gently onto the desk along with his bow to avoid answering. "You shouldn't be here." he said, still not looking at John.

"Too bad." John stood his ground, clenching his fists. "I'm not leaving without an explanation."

"You are not safe in my company or have you forgotten what happened the last time we were together?" Sherlock snarled.

"I haven't forgotten." John answered quietly.

"Then why are you here?" Sherlock bit out, his hands clutching the side of the desk so tightly his knuckles were white.

John closed the space between them and placed his hand gently around Sherlock's wrist, forcing his former owner to look at him. "Because I'm a free man now Sherlock. I don't belong to anybody and I don't owe anyone a thing. I can go wherever I want and do whatever I want." John slowly slid his hand up Sherlock's arm until it curled around the nape of the taller man's neck. He felt Sherlock shiver under his fingers. Carefully, he brought their heads together so their foreheads rested against each other. "And the only place I could think of that I want to be is here at Baker Street with you. I wanted to come home."

"John- " Sherlock choked out a sob and fell to his knees as if they had given out from underneath him. He buried his face against John's stomach and clutched John's jumper, clinging to him as if his life depended on keeping John there. John stood still, unsure what to do., having never been in this sort of situation before. He brought his hands up and buried them in Sherlock's curls, petting him soothingly.

"It's all right." John said over and over.

"It's not." Sherlock shook his head, wiping his tears against John's shirt. "I don't deserve you, I've never deserved you, but especially not now. Not after what I've done. I have failed you in every way possible. I could have saved you months ago if I had been more clever, if I had seen through Moriarty's game. It's my fault you were trapped in that place as long as you were. So please don't say anything as awful as you forgive me. I can't bear it."

"Sherlock." John was stunned and realized that he had begun to clutch Sherlock right back; terrified that Sherlock was going to send him away.

"I didn't even have the courage to face you, to go rescue you myself. I sent my brother to save you and then hid away here like a coward. You're so much better than me John, in every respect. I could never make this up to you."

John slid down to his knees and took Sherlock's face in his hands so he had no choice but to look at him. Sherlock's tear-streaked face made him look impossibly young. "Do you think maybe that's something I could decide for myself?"

"How could I?" Sherlock grabbed John's forearms and tried, unenthusiastically, to push John away. But John wasn't going anywhere. "After everything you've been through, how could I possibly start making things up to you?"

They were so close, Sherlock's breath hot against John's face. It would be so easy to kiss him. So that's what John did. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Sherlock's. "I want to forget." John murmured softly. "Please. I need you to help me forget." He slid Sherlock's dressing gown off his shoulders until it was a pile of silk on the floor.

"John, I don't think –"

"Good, don't think. I don't want to think." John shook his head and pushed Sherlock backwards until he was lying on the floor. Sherlock gazed up at him with someone akin to astonishment on his face as John climbed on top of him. "I just want to feel something else." John began unbuttoning Sherlock shirt, kissing any exposed flesh and he went. "Something besides my grief, my fear, my anxiety. I want to feel whole again and the only time I've ever come close was when I was with you."

Sherlock sat up suddenly and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him close and kissing him hard. John gasped and put his arms around Sherlock just as tightly, kissed back with just as much fervor.

Sherlock tugged at the bottom of John's jumper, working it up his body. John broke away from the kiss to lift his arms and help in the proceedings. Their lips met again in a bruising kiss, the intensity of it making John shudder, but he needed it. Sherlock's hands shook as he unbuttoned John's shirt and practically ripped it out from his trousers.

"Sherlock, we've got time. We've got so much time." John reminded him. He brought their lips together again and kissed him slowly, thoroughly. He lowered them back down, cradling Sherlock's head to make sure he didn't hit it. His hands roamed, fingers dancing over warm skin, relearning the body he used to know.

Sherlock moaned against his mouth and John could feel him begin to thicken. John ran his hand down Sherlock's chest and slid it inside his trousers. Sherlock's hand shot out so fast, John barely saw it until it was gripping his wrist.

"Sherlock?" John raised his eyebrow in a question.

"Hold on, before I get too far gone, I have to get something."

"Okay." John nodded and got off of Sherlock to allow him to retrieve whatever it was he needed. Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom and John took the opportunity to remove his clothes. As he did so he looked around the room, realizing nothing much had changed since he had last been there. Mrs. Hudson must have been keeping it tidy because there was no way Sherlock had been dusting. John smiled at the thought and folded his clothes neatly on the coffee table.

He laid out Sherlock dressing gown on the floor so neither of them would get rug burn. He wasn't quite ready to face the bedrooms yet, too many memories. He licked his lips in anticipation, still able to taste Sherlock on them. The smile he had from the thought was wiped off when Sherlock appeared around the corner completely naked.

Even though John was in a similar state, he couldn't help the shock that came with seeing Sherlock completely naked. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before but it was still an incredible sight. Sherlock was all lithe limbs and pale skin. The blush of his cheeks made him look even prettier. The image John had kept in his mind for six months was nothing compared to what stood before him.

"Hello." John said, his voice coarse from arousal.

"Hi." Sherlock smiled at him and moved gracefully across the room to stand in front of John. His eyes flickered from John's eyes to the bullet wound in his shoulder. John rocked nervously from foot to foot, embarrassed by it. Sherlock was staring at it intently, frowning.

"I know it's ugly."

"No." Sherlock shook his head. "It's not that, it's never that. How could someone do this? When I think of someone else hurting you…" Sherlock clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed in fury. He let it out with a sigh and turned his face away. "But I guess I'm no better. I shouldn't really think myself above them."

"Hey." John placed his finger under Sherlock's chin and brought him back so they were face to face. "Don't think like that, don't compare yourself to them."

"I'm sorry John."

"I know you are." John placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek and kissed him sweetly. "And that's what makes you different. Now kiss me."

Sherlock obeyed, kissing John back with everything he had. He then proceeded to do what John could only call worshiping. Sherlock took his time, lips and hands covering every inch of skin John had, no patch of him going neglected, exploring the body he had never been allowed to touch. By the time Sherlock wrapped his lips around John's prick, John was shaking with want. His legs felt like they could hardly support him as Sherlock's dark head of hair bobbed between his legs.

He was too close, too soon, he'd barely touched Sherlock at all. "Wait." He gently tugged on Sherlock's hair until Sherlock pulled off.

Sherlock sat back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Was I doing it wrong?" The sight of an uncertain Sherlock made John all the more desperate for him.

"No, it was wonderful. It is amazing that you would want to do that for me. But I would rather do something else, if that's okay."

"Of course it is." Sherlock smiled and ran his hands along John's thighs. John needed to sit down before he collapsed. He got down onto his knees so he was level with Sherlock and started kissing his throat. Sherlock let out a breathy little sigh and reached for whatever he had gone to his bedroom for.

The moment John saw the bottle of lubricant, his entire body seized up. Horrible memories flashed through his head and suddenly he felt like he was back with Moriarty, unsure if this was the real Sherlock or his mind playing tricks. He shoved Sherlock away from him roughly and felt like he was having a panic attack. He was on all fours, dry heaving, feeling as if he would never get enough air into his lungs.

"John!" Sherlock cried out, reaching towards him as if he wasn't sure if he should touch him or not. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Sherlock placed a hand lightly on John's back and rubbed it calmly. John focused on that small bit of contact and used it to calm himself down. He was safe, Moriarty was dead and he was safe. He was home with Sherlock. Moriarty was never going to hurt him again.

"I'm sorry." John croaked, hating the way his eyes prickled with tears.

"John, what can I do? Tell me what to do." Sherlock said in distress at seeing John in such a state.

"I don't know." John shook his head and pressed it into the carpet, needing to feel something real.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this." Sherlock reached back to grab John's clothes but John stopped him.

"No, I want to. I do. I'm not sure if I can do that, I'm sorry. I can't give myself to you that way."

"Oh." Sherlock spun the bottle of lubricant in his hands anxiously. "I was actually planning…I mean I wanted to…give myself to you."

"Oh. Right. Are you sure?"

Sherlock bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Only if you want to of course."

"You idiot." John smiled affectionately and pulled Sherlock to him. "Of course I want to."

John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's cock and began stroking. He reveled in the soft, keening noises Sherlock made against his mouth as they kissed languidly.

Growing impatient, Sherlock shoved the lube into John's hands and lied down on his dressing gown. John took his time, massaging Sherlock's inner walls, caressing his prostate, all the while lavishing kisses and tiny bites to Sherlock's thighs.

"John. John I need you now. Please." Sherlock had one arm thrown over his face, his cock leaking freely against his stomach. John carefully removed his fingers and pulled Sherlock's arm away.

"I want to see you." He whispered against Sherlock's ear. He gripped the base of his cock as he lined up and eased his way in. And _oh_, it was so different than being at the other end. The feelings as he entered Sherlock's body were overwhelming and John had to still himself before everything was over too quickly. His hands traveled up Sherlock's arms, placing them above his head and entwining their fingers.

Sherlock's long legs encircled John's body and urged him forward. John rocked further into Sherlock's body and then back out. Every time he moved, he felt Sherlock's hardened cock rub against his stomach. His lips sought his former owners and marveled at how their bodies were connected, the intimacy of so many points of contact.

John eventually had to break away, fearing he might drown in the other man, lose himself forever if he didn't breathe. He rested himself on his elbows, placing his forearms under Sherlock so his hands were on his shoulders. Sherlock, finally having his hands free, stroked his hands up and down John's back.

"John, I'm going to come." Sherlock said softly, pushing his fingers up into John's hair.

"Please." John requested, feeling close himself. Sherlock's legs tightened as he called out John's name, elongating his neck and spilling himself between their joined bodies. His whole body clenched and then he released, his legs dropping to the floor.

A few more thrusts and John followed, moaning Sherlock's name against his collarbone as he came. The last few months must have caught up with him because the moment John sagged against Sherlock, he passed out from exhaustion.

XXXX

When he awoke, he was alone and Sherlock had placed the blue silk dressing gown over him. John sat up in a panic, worried about where Sherlock had gone. It turned out he hadn't gone far, sitting on the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest, smoking a cigarette.

"When did you start smoking?" John asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

"Since I got out of rehab." Sherlock replied, still staring at the window.

"Oh, Mycroft didn't mention you'd been to rehab." John put the dressing gown on the right way and joined Sherlock on the sofa.

"I – I was not at my best with you gone. There was no one to stop me but I kept thinking that if you ever did come back to me, you shouldn't have to come back to that."

"That's, wow, so that's it? No more cocaine?" John felt his chest swell with pride.

"No more anything other than nicotine and caffeine." Sherlock informed him, stubbing out his cigarette on the ashtray he had on the table.

"Well I…" John beamed at Sherlock and took his hand in his. "I'm just so proud of you."

"I did it for you. I couldn't stop foolishly hoping that you'd return."

"Not so foolish as it turned out." John kissed each of Sherlock's fingers individually.

"How can you let me touch you?" Sherlock pulled his hand away and folded in on himself, shutting John out. "How can you even come near me after what I've done?"

"Sherlock –"

"You said I shouldn't compare myself to them but why shouldn't I? We did the same things, abused you the same way –"

"- No you didn't."

Sherlock ignored him and carried on. "How am I any different than your other abusers? Because I knew you? Shouldn't that make it worse, not better?" Sherlock snapped bitterly.

"Sherlock, you are not James Moriarty!" John shouted as Sherlock catapulted himself off the sofa and began pacing the sitting room maniacally.

"Why not? What makes me different?"

"You could not have done half the things Moriarty did to me. You couldn't have!" John jumped to his feet and rummaged through his clothes. He pulled out Sherlock's letter and forced the man to stand still. "You want to know what separates you from Jim Moriarty? It's this." John shoved the letter into Sherlock's hands and watched as a flicker of recognition came over him. He opened it, just to be sure and then stared at John questioningly. "Jim Moriarty could never have written me that letter. Never. Nor would he want to. But when I was stuck in that horrible fucking place and my mind and body were tortured and broken, the only thing, the _only thing, _keeping me sane was this _heartbreaking _letter. You are not now, nor will you ever be, one infinitesimal bit like James Moriarty. I don't want you to even think such a thing ever again."

"John I just, I feel like I've been forgiven too easily."

"Who said I forgave you?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I never said I forgave you."

"But – but we –"

"That was not forgiveness, that was necessity. I haven't forgotten what happened and I don't intend to but things will get better."

"How?"

"Sherlock, don't you see everything has changed now. Our relationship isn't one of a pet and owner anymore, it's of two people. That's all we are, two people. I can walk out that door any time I want and you can't do a damn thing to stop me. We both know that now, which means you're going to have to put in a little effort to keep me here."

"I wish you'd hate me for a bit." Sherlock informed him with a huff of frustration.

"You think I haven't tried? You ruined everything between us Sherlock." Sherlock looked down at his feet in shame. "After it happened, I didn't know how I was ever going to forgive you. But then you let me go, you helped me track down my sister and wrote me an absolutely beautiful note. God, I almost hated you more for that, for making it so difficult to hate you when you'd given me everything I'd ever wanted after you'd taken away everything I had to give."

John stepped forward and waited until Sherlock looked up before he spoke again. "But do you want to know the real reason I can't hate you?"

Sherlock nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"It's because I've been in love with you since I was nine years old and I can't feel differently. I've tried, believe me, I've tried, but I can't stop. Even when you're an insufferable git. Sherlock, what you did to me, what you took from me, did you really think I didn't want it, didn't want you? After all the times we almost got caught fooling around in your bedroom after hours?"

"You were my pet, you were just doing what I told you to do, what I asked of you." Sherlock shook his head.

"You really are an idiot." John said warmly, cupping Sherlock's cheek in his hand. Sherlock leaned into the touch, nuzzling his face against John's palm. "Sherlock, you always asked, you always made it my choice. Every kiss, every touch, you always left it up to me except for that one time. And Christ, if you had asked me, I would have said yes. You just didn't think to ask."

"I was just so scared, so terrified of losing you."

"You won't." John promised.

"What if I do it again?"

"You won't do that either."

"How do you know? I've done it before, I can do it again." Sherlock pushed John's hand away and went to stand in front of the window.

John shook his head and went over, wrapping his hands around Sherlock from behind and holding him tight. He rested his head between Sherlock's shoulder blades and smiled. "You won't because you'll have no reason to. You also won't because if you ever did, I would walk out that door and you'd never see me again. Despite what you think Sherlock Holmes, I can live without you, I'd just prefer not to. So don't give me a reason to leave and I won't, it's a simple as that."

"I love you as well, incidentally." Sherlock said, leaning back into John's embrace.

"It's not like you to state the obvious, are you feeling all right?"

"I am perfectly contented, thank you."

"Only content? I'll have to work on that. It simply won't do."

"I would be much happier if you would take me to bed so we can once again celebrate your freedom." Sherlock turned in John's arms and kissed him suggestively, with teasing flicks of his tongue against John's.

"Hmm." John hummed happily. "Yes, I don't think we've celebrated near enough."

John tugged on his hand and led him towards the bedroom. When they got inside his room, he leaned against the door and watched John slide off the dressing gown, admiring the view. "John I know I don't legally own you anymore but are you still mine?"

"Sherlock." John took his hand and Sherlock's world narrowed down to their interlaced fingers. "It makes no difference to me what piece of paper you sign. When I was nine years old, this skinny kid with wild curly hair, walked through the pound and pointed his finger at me. As far as I'm concerned, I've been his ever since."

"Really?"

"Really." John assured him, leaning up and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm yours Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John more solidly, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. As best he could, Sherlock was going to make himself a barrier between John and anyone who dared trying to hurt him again.

_Mine, _he thought, wrapping John Watson up in his arms and sheltering him from the world. _Mine to have, mine to protect, mine to love. _

Because John Watson loved him, there was no question of that now. Sherlock planned to spend the rest of his life trying to deserve that love. John wanted to be whole again and Sherlock meant to devote his life to the task. It was the least he could do to repay John for being alive and well, at Baker Street, in Sherlock's embrace and unequivocally his.

The End

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><p>AN: Oh my god, we finally made it! After almost a whole freaking year of writing this beast, we're finally done! AHH! Thank you so much to anyone who stuck with this story from the beginning, I know I was absolute crap at updating. You all deserve to be sainted or at least have some cake or both. You are all seriously wonderful. I think I'm going to go cry tears of joy that this bad boy is done. I hope you were all satisfied with the ending and if not, don't tell me because that will only upset me. Thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/etc and sticking with me while the angst of this story destroyed me from the inside out. But now it's over so hooray!


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